Coming Home
by Richefic
Summary: After a difficult experience Richie discovers that there is nothing like coming home to your family. Especially when that family includes, Mac, Methos, Connor, Joe and Amanda. Set in the same universe as The Quickening Now Complete..
1. Default Chapter

AN- Disclaimer. Don't own them. Never did. This is set in the same universe as my story The Quickening, (although its not its main sequel which is still in the works) All you need to know is that Connor, Duncan Methos and Richie, all live together on a ranch in Montana and Methos is Richie's new teacher. And I KNOW its not Richie's punishment either but as I said to Southern Chickie I feel I have tortured Richie enough recently and felt in need of a nice big comforting dose of humour and smarm.

***

Conner surveyed the dinner table critically. Rolls warm from the oven. A good merlot. A warm rack of beef and a crisp dressed salad. Everything was ready. 

"You shouldn't have." Methos dry tone came from behind him.

"Actually I ordered in." Conner shrugged.

"The miracles of modern living." Methos acknowledged as he took his seat.

"Well, with the lad away, I thought we could dine like civilised men for once." Connor grinned.

"Richie's table manners are better than yours were when you were his age." Methos defended his new student.

"I meant Duncan." Connor deadpanned.

"How long does it take a man of Mac's experience to choose one filly anyway?" Methos wondered.

"Depends," Connor quirked a brow. "M. Geran has four daughters. Four very attractive daughters by all accounts."

"He's supposed to be running a Ranch, not a bloody harem." Methos protested.

The phone rang.

"Never fails." Conner sighed. "Excuse me."

Methos leaned forward and sipped at his wine, as Conner crossed the room and picked up the phone.

"Nash." 

"Yes I know Richard Ryan," Conner met Methos eyes with a frown. "He's my nephew."

"What?" Conner stared at the phone. "Oh. Yes. Well. He's .. he was adopted. Ryan was his foster mother's name," Conner rolled his eyes at Methos. "Can I ask what this is about?"

"I see." The serious tone made Methos sit up a little straighter. 

"Yes Officer. Of course," Conner's face was grim. "Can I speak to him?"

A pause. "Yes. I expect he is. No. I'll come right away."

Conner put the phone down and stared at it for a moment as if it was the cause of all his troubles.

"Trouble?"

"A New York State Patrol car found Richie walking down the Highway. They think he was mugged."

"Not very likely." Methos put his glass down. Richie might not have centuries of experience but he _was Immortal and he had several very good teachers._

"Apparently he was bleeding all over their patrol car." Connor mused.

"_Bleeding?_" Methos clarified.

Even if he had been in a fight any injury Richie had should have healed quickly enough. It took severe, repeated, trauma, over a period of days, to cause the kind of prolonged damage that would inhibit healing. Very carefully Methos put down his glass.

"Did they say anything about a sword?" 

"No." Conner went over to a nearby chest and, after a moment, pulled out a rapier. "I think they would have mentioned something like that. Don't you?"

"Probably," Methos nodded. "Does Richie know anyone in New York State?"

"They wouldn't let him leave the police station unless he could be released into someone's care. If he knew anyone In New York State do you think he would have given them this number?" Conner asked.

"Probably not." Methos looked around.

"What are you looking for?"

"My coat. I know I brought it with me."

 "Its on the floor in the kitchen. With your sword." Conner arched a brow.

"See, that's why I'm coming," Methos headed towards the Kitchen. "I can still remember how these things happen."

***

The journey took several hours. It was almost dawn when Conner pulled into a gas station to ask directions to the local police station. A sergeant showed them to a small office room, sparsely furnished with an overstuffed couch, a bare table and a coffee machine.

Richie was sitting on the floor.

Methos saw Conner's lips thin as he took in the pale hollow cheeks and the dark circles under his eyes. A smear of blood across one cheek offset the stark white complexion. 

"We offered him a shower." The sergeant said apologetically. 

"Richie." Conner crouched down beside the lad. Didn't try to touch him.

Richie blinked. But he didn't move.

"You alright?" Conner asked gently.

Richie pursed his lips and nodded his head sharply once.

"Alright." Conner straightened up. "Where do I sign for him?" he asked the sergeant.

"You gonna take him like that?" the sergeant frowned.

"He's family." Conner said simply.

Methos saw Richie jerk slightly at the open affection, but he still didn't speak.

This was bad. 

"This way." The Sergeant shrugged, leading the way out of the room.

Methos moved over to crouch down beside Richie, noting the way his student tracked his movements out of the corner of his eye like a cornered animal.

"You cold?" He didn't wait for an answer. "I never liked that coat."

He shrugged his way out of his dark, woollen coat, and wrapped it tightly around his student's shoulders. Richie shivered, but allowed the contact.

"That's better." Methos affirmed quietly.

"You bought it for me." Richie's quiet protest warmed his heart. "The coat .."

"I know," Methos agreed. "That's why I don't like it. You have no fashion sense."

"Hey, I have good taste in clothes," Richie countered, accepting the hand up that Methos offered.

The ancient Immortal pretended not to notice the way the way Richie grimaced, as he straightened up.

"Ugly Green and Blue Jacket?" He offered instead, subtly supporting the younger Immortal as they headed out towards Connor's car.

"That jacket was a classic." Richie sucked in his breath and looked dangerously close to passing out as Methos propped him up against the Sedan.

Methos decided he had exhausted this century's quota of subtle.

"Please tell me the bastard who did this to you is dead." He demanded, patting his pockets before belatedly realising that a. Richie was wearing his coat and b. Connor was still inside with the car keys.

"Chopping off their heads usually works, right?" Richie managed through clenched teeth.

"Usually." Methos agreed, breaking into the car, without leaving so much as a scratch.

"Then he's dead," Richie sank gratefully onto the front seat and closed his eyes tight. "Nothing to worry about."

"Oh, I wouldn't say that." Methos frowned at him in concern.

"I'm fine." Richie murmured.

"That might work .." Methos acknowledged, sliding into the back seat. "If I had never met you before."

"How's the lad?" Connor asked, opening the driver's door and settling himself in.

"He says he's fine." Methos rolled his eyes.

"That bad?" Connor worried.

"In case anyone hasn't noticed," Richie sounded slightly peeved. "I'm Immortal. I come with a Lifetime guarantee."

"If you are so fine," Connor challenged. "Why haven't you opened your eyes?"

"Its two in the morning," Richie managed. "Any normal person would be asleep."

"Someone needs to get you a new watch. You've had a longer than average day, boo boo." Methos murmured.

"What?" Connor twisted to look at him.

"We passed a  Motel, just down the road." The ancient offered.

***

"It's a Motel, Jim but not as we know it." Methos quipped as he took in the garish 70's wall paper and the stained carpet.

"What?" Connor blinked at him, as he settled Richie onto the bed furthest from the door.

"Haven't you watched _any_ television in the last four hundred years?" Methos demanded, unlacing Richie's tattered sneakers. His feet were bare and swollen, marked with old cuts and dark bruising.

"I watch documentaries." Connor huffed, easing Richie out of Methos' coat.

"That's not television," Richie slurred from the bed. "Gotta get you into MTV."

"You read War and Peace my lad and I'll watch MTV." Connor chuckled, removing the lad's own suede jacket, frowning when some parts seemed suspiciously darker than others.

"Deal." Richie nodded vaguely.

Any retort Connor might have made was lost, when he saw the state Richie was in. His clothes were torn and marked. Hardly an inch of him was free from injury.

"Didn't I teach you better than that?" Connor didn't know how Methos managed to keep his tone light. "Never agree to a wager unless you understand the stakes."

"War and Peace is just a book, right?" Richie managed.

"Its not just a book, brat." Richie felt Methos ruffle his hair. "It's the longest book that's ever been written."

"Ever?" Richie's jaw lolled open.

"Now, don't scare the lad. What about the Bible?" Connor swallowed hard, trying to regain his composure.

"That's several books," Methos pointed out. "They just brought out a Reader's Digest version."

"Um. Guys. Can you argue about this later?" Richie's cold fingers fumbled ineffectively with his buttons. "I really want to get some sleep."

"Leave those." Connor gently swatted his hands away. Richie's shirt was stuck to his body with dried blood. If they just pulled it off the wounds would heal, eventually, but it would be incredibly painful.

"What do you think?" he asked Methos.

Methos looked at the deep and myriad wounds, some of which were still bleeding sluggishly.

"I think," he decided. "We need to get him in the bath."

"Bath!" Richie sat bolt upright. "You are not giving me a bath!" he protested vehemently.

Just before he passed out.

"Do you have any bubble bath?" Methos asked innocently.

"I'm sure the Management can provide some." Connor smirked.


	2. Bathtime

AN- Thanks to Jen for pointing out that in attempting to explain that this is set in the same universe as The Quickening, I mistakenly gave the impression that Methos and Connor were supposed to be in Montana, when I was actually thinking of them being at Connor's place in New York. Sorry for any confusion.

***  
"You bring the lad," Connor started towards the bathroom. "I'll run the bath."

"Why don't you bring the lad and I'll run the bath?" Methos countered.

"Because this was your idea." Connor called back.

"But, what if he comes around?" Methos complained.

"Then you'll probably get a black eye," Connor gave a dry little chuckle. "Or two."

"If he's been paying any attention to what I've been teaching him, a black eye would be the least of my worries." Methos muttered sourly.

Gently, he lifted the unconscious Immortal into his arms and carried him into the bathroom.

Almost gagging on the sickly sweet perfume that filled the air.

"What in the name of all the gods _is that _smell_?" he protested._

Connor looked at the bottle of bubble bath. "Strawberry and Coconut concoction." He read.

"He's going to kill us." Methos grinned tightly, lowering his student into the bath, so the warm water could set to work.

"I thought it would suit him," Connor shrugged innocently. "The lad is a strawberry blonde, after all"

"I didn't know Immortals could be colour blind." Methos commented.

"Pardon?" Connor frowned.

"This," Methos tugged at a lock, "Is red hair."

"Really?" Connor reached over and seized another curl. "Well, this, is strawberry blonde."

 "Ouch," Richie protested softly, his hands coming up to ward off whatever was attacking his head.

"Easy, Risteard," Connor captured his hands, and brought them back down to his chest.

"Connor?" Richie managed.

"Aye lad?" Connor inspected the bottles of shampoo, choosing one that claimed to control bounce.

Lord knows, the lad could use a dose or two of that.

"Why am I all wet?" Richie slurred.

"Because you're taking a bath." Connor told him.

"But I still have all my clothes on." Richie protested groggily.

"Not for long," From somewhere around his person, Methos produced a dangerous looking stiletto dagger.

"Have a lot of haberdashery emergencies do you?" Connor said disapprovingly.

"There's nothing in the rules that says I can't carry it." Methos retorted, leaning over to cut through Richie's jeans.

"Hey!" Richie scooted back so quickly, a wave of water sloshed over the edge of the bath. "Watch where you are pointing that thing!"

"You'd be much less likely to get cut if you'd just keep still." Methos told him.

"I'd be much less likely to get cut if you'd put that thing away." Richie retorted.

"I have done this before you know."

"What?" Richie was still pressed up at the end of the bath, as far away from Methos as he could get. "Made eunuchs out of people?"

"Don't tempt me," Methos warmed. "What happened to Adelaide anyway?"

"Her name was Adina, and we broke up." Richie told him.

"Before or after?" Methos waved his knife at Richie's wounds, who scowled sourly at him.

"After. Connor, make him put that thing down."

"I could use the Katana if you prefer." Connor offered.

"Fine. Whatever." Richie said tightly, feeling the tears of helplessness burn at the back of his eyes.

He shut his eyes tight, so the two elder Immortals, wouldn't see his humiliation and lay back in the water, welcoming its blessed warmth after days of being chilled to the bone.

"Here, drink."

The scent of whiskey, encouraged him to open his eyes.

Methos, was offering the glass, his eyes warm with compassion. His hand, strong and gentle, supporting the back of his head, reminding Richie, painfully of Mac.

He gulped at the glass, feeling the familiar burn of a fine vintage slide down his throat.

"Better?" Methos asked softly.

"Yeah, sorry." Richie apologised.

"Ditto." Methos made a face.

Richie laughed, constantly surprised by the depth of compassion and affection that the ancient Immortal was still capable of

Only to be doused, with a shower of warm water, as Connor rinsed the shampoo away.

"Sorry," Connor grinned, unrepentantly as he waved the shower head, "My aim slipped."

"The last time my aim slipped," Richie reminded him. "You sliced me open so that all my insides were on the outside."

"Did you know that you have glitter in your hair?" Connor wondered. "Purple glitter at that."

"Yes." Richie said, in a tone that brooked no discussion.

"Alright." Methos told him, making one last cut. "Lift up."

"Huh?" Richie turned towards him. Shifting his weight just enough to allow his teacher to remove the last shredded remnants of his clothes.

It took Richie a full three seconds to realise that he was completely naked.

"Hey" he protested, curling up into a ball so fast that Methos was hit by a small tidal wade. "What's the big idea?"

"You were the one who complained about wearing all your clothes." Connor pointed out, pouring some conditioner onto the wild curls.

"And it is customary to remove your clothes when taking a bath." Methos reminded him.

"Well, I don't know what it was like back in the Dark Ages," Richie protested. "But us normal people usually like our privacy."

"Oh please," Methos paused in the act of squeezing liquid soap onto a cloth, "Are you telling me no-body has ever given you a bath before?"

Richie used his expanding Gaelic vocabulary to tell him what he could do with his cloth.

"Maybe you should wash his mouth out as well." Connor murmured.

"And what about the man who taught him?" Methos countered. "Because, I'd bet my beer tab, that the Boy Scout didn't teach him to curse like that."

"Aren't you done yet?" Connor asked testily. "How long can it take to wash a bairn his size?"

"I don't know about him," Richie warned, eying Methos' cloth warily.  "But I'm not even started yet."

"If you can tell me, honestly, that you've never been given a bath before," Methos allowed. "I'll leave you to it."

"Well," Richie blushed. "Some of my girlfriends liked all the all the candles and stuff."

"I meant a proper bath. As in washing?" Methos clarified.

"I guess Emily must have done," Richie looked away. "I don't remember."

"More's the pity." Connor murmured, suspiciously washing the conditioner from his hair, without so much as a splash on his face.

"I was thinking of more recently?" Methos arched a brow.

"Mac, once or twice," Richie admitted softly. "When I was sick, or hurting."

"You want me to call him?" Methos asked gently.

"He's in France," Richie said woodenly. "Don't you think the water will get a bit cold?"

Methos caught Connor's eye.

There was more going on here than they knew.

"You know," Methos said conversationally. "When I was young, there was a rumour that I was raised by wolves."

"You're kidding, right?"

Not for the first time, Methos blessed Richie's mercurial attention span.  

"I wouldn't know, I don't remember much about my childhood," Methos admitted. "Although, I assume I had one. Most people do."

"Don't you miss that?" Richie asked.

"Families can be overrated," Methos dismissed lightly. "Look at Cain and Abel. Are you getting out of there?"

"That depends," Richie said warily. "Are you going to try and wash me some more?"

"I don't need to," Methos said smugly. "You've been in there so long, all the cuts have healed."

"Figures." Richie sighed and began to rise.

"Um. You're not thinking of patting me dry are you?"


	3. Nightmare

"What kind of a Hotel doesn't have room service?" Methos scowled at the phone in disgust.

"You'll be wanting a mini bar, one of those trouser presses and those little chocolates on your pillow, as well, I'll warrant." Connor didn't look up from his book.

"I just want something to eat," Methos sighed. "Dinner was rudely interrupted if you recall."

"So, call for takeout."

"Apparently, there's only one restaurant in town and _they don't deliver."_

"Better put your coat on then" Connor suggested. "Its cold out."

"Are you sure you don't want to go?" Methos offered. "You Scots types like your bracing fresh air?"

"Scottish," Connor corrected absently. "Bring plenty. I'm sure the lad will be fit to eat a horse when he wakes up."

"Maybe, I should stay with him." Methos looked over at the sleeping Immortal. "I am his teacher, after all."

"I'm sure I can manage a spot of baby sitting," Connor smirked. "Even our Richie can't get into that much trouble when he's asleep."

"Fine, I'm going then," Methos huffed, shrugging into his coat. "I'll probably be gone for hours."

In fact, it only took him five minutes to get to the restaurant, where the pretty, dark haired waitress and their excellent wine list made the trip almost worthwhile.

Less then thirty minutes later he was back at the Motel, laden down with food and wine enough for an army, only to find the door wide open and Connor lying in a pool of blood.

Richie was no-where to be seen.

"Connor?" Methos demanded, as the Immortal gasped back to life.

"Richie," Connor growled.

"Not here," Methos said flatly. "They must have taken him."

"There was no they," Connor spat. "Your student ran me through."

"_Richie_ killed you?" Methos smirked. "Oh, wait till I tell Mac."

"Duncan warned me to be careful when waking him from a nightmare," Connor grumbled, climbing to his feet. "But I dinna think he would react that badly."

"He had a nightmare?" Methos frowned.

"A bad one." Connor nodded curtly, pulling on his coat.

"He hadn't had a nightmare in months," Methos followed him out into the car lot.

"Well, he had one tonight," Connor looked around. "We have the advantage. He can't have got far on foot."

"Um. Wasn't there a Corvette here earlier?" Methos wondered.

Connor swore fluently in Gaelic.

"Is that possible?" Methos wondered.

"Wait till we find the lad and I'll show you." Connor promised grimly.

They'd only gone about five miles when the car headlights picked out the crumpled body of a Corvette, wrapped around a tree and teetering on the edge of a cliff.

"It could have been worse," Methos shrugged, as he got out. "It could have fallen off the cliff."

"It still might," Connor went over and pulled open the drivers door and reached over to unbuckle the seatbelt, before he realised that Methos was just watching.

"Were you planning on helping?"

"Helping. Yes. Falling down the cliff. No." Methos crossed his arms.

"Its not like the fall can kill you."

Connor lifted Richie's body over his shoulder and staggered away from the car.

"No. But it still hurts. And how am I going to get to play Doctor if I'm all the way down there?"

Connor considered pointing out that the lad was Immortal, and didn't actually need a Doctor. Except that he really didn't look at all well.

They sat him on the curb, Connor supporting him on his right, whilst Methos knelt in front of him and took his head in his hands.

"Richie?" Methos asked, as he tilted his head up to check his pupils.

Richie stared blankly back at him.

"C'mon kid, I know you're not dead." Methos teased, patting his cheeks. "Talk to me."

Richie looked groggily up at him.

"I wrecked my car." He slurred.

"Well, technically, you didn't." Connor told him dryly.

"Iss OK?" Richie gave him a happy, grin, trying to twist around in Methos' grip to inspect the car.

His face fell.

"Iss wrecked." He looked at Connor with an accusing pout. "You said it was OK."

"I said it wasn't your car, bonnie lad." Connor corrected.

"Iss not?" Richie considered this. "So, is my car OK?" he asked hopefully.

"In my experience," Methos murmured, frowning at something he saw in Richie's pupils, "A scolding is usually more effective if the scoldee is actually coherent enough to understand what you are saying."

"Thank you for the tip, Dr Spock," Connor rolled his eyes. 

He watched Methos critically for a moment. "Is something wrong?"

"I'm not sure," Methos murmured. "Did you pack your X-ray vision?"

"I'm afraid to ask."

"He's got a nasty cut up here, its healing. But without the benefit of modern technology, I can't be sure that he hasn't got some metal, or glass stuck in there."

"Wouldn't that just get expelled as the body repairs itself?" Connor wondered.

"Generally," Methos acknowledged. "Not always."

"My head hurts." Richie protested softly.

"That's because you have a bloody great hole in it," Methos told him, rubbing his back comfortingly. "It'll pass."

"We should probably get out of here," Connor suggested. "Before we attract too much unwanted attention."

"In the circumstances I think we should get out of dodge altogether," Methos considered. "You can leave a cheque to cove the car."

"Me?" Connor spluttered. "Why me?"

"Because you were the designated adult," Methos pointed out. "You should probably leave something to cover the Motel carpet, as well."

"Fine, I'll just take it out of the lad's allowance for the next thousand years." Connor grumbled..

"Like I'm ever gonna live that long." Richie scoffed.

"Oh, I don't know," Methos helped him to stand. "Think how proud Mac will be when he finds out you bested your Uncle Connor."

"Which one of you is Mac?" Richie slurred.

"I think someone is a little concussed." Methos chuckled.

"Are you taking me to jail?" Richie asked, as Methos steered him towards the car.

"Don't tempt me." Connor growled.

"We're just going to take you home Rich." Methos soothed.

"So, you ain't gonna call the Cops, right" Richie asked anxiously.

"Why would we call the police?" Connor wondered.

"Cause, I'm not old enough to drive, stupid." Richie told him.

"Richie?" Methos asked carefully, "How old are you?"

"I'm twelve." Richie told him. "How old are you?"


	4. Surprises

The drive back to the Motel was quiet and uneventful.  At least, in the sheltered reaches of Connor's imagination.

"Where are we going?" Richie demanded.

"Back to the Motel, so Connor can settle up." Methos told him.

"Is he a pimp?" Richie asked.

"What?" Connor spluttered.

"Cos, I'm not supposed to talk to him if he is. Margie said so."

"Is Margie, your foster mother?" Methos asked.

"Naw," Richie laughed. "She's one of the Prostitutes who hang out down East Street. She's nice. She buys me hot dogs sometimes."

"I'm _not_ a pimp," Connor protested. "I'm your Uncle Connor."

"So, you're Mac?" Richie looked at Methos.

"Heaven forbid," the ancient Immortal rolled his eyes. "I'm .. um .. Adam. I'm your teacher."

"You mean like in School?" Richie frowned. "Don't I gotta call you Mr Something?"

"We're on vacation." Methos told him.

"OK, cool." Richie sat back.

"How long do you think this will last?" Connor muttered in Gaelic.

"Not that long," Methos shrugged.

"Thank the Lord for that."

"At the very worst he'll grow out of it in a few years."

"You know," Connor said tightly. "Sometimes, I seriously question how you have managed to live so long."

"I'm very wise and ancient."

"Well, oh wise and ancient one, what do you suggest that we do with him?"

Methos considered that.

"Let's take him back to New York. Many a good nights rest will resolve matters."

"Fair enough," Connor agreed. "As addled as his brains are now, he's probably safer away from the livestock anyway."

"And besides," Methos smirked. "Would you really fancy driving all the way to Montana with a ten year old in the back of the car?"

***

"Wow," Richie wandered through the enormous, sunken, living room of Connor's apartment. "I really live here?"

"For now," Connor agreed.

"Oh," Richie sucked in his cheeks. "When, do I have to go back?"

"To Montana?" Connor wondered.

"To the Orphanage." Richie scowled.

Connor cursed himself for a fool. Of course, the lad would think that.

"Richie," Connor told him seriously. "We're family. Family doesn't send each other away."

"Yeah, right. You're the fifth "Uncle" I've had so far this year. It only counts till you and my foster Mom break up." Richie reminded him.

"This isn't like that," Connor shook his head. "I'm _your Uncle, as in your Father's kin."_

"You know my Dad?" Richie stopped dead. A huge grin blossoming on his face. "Where is he? Is he here? Did he send you to get me? I knew. I knew he'd come back for me. He didn't know my Mom was dead, right? Or he would have come for me before."

"Richie," Connor made a face. "About your father .."

"He's not coming?" As fast as the smile had appeared on Richie's face it disappeared. "He doesn't want me, does he? He dumped me on you guys."

"Don't be daft lad," Connor's no nonsense dismissal probably did far more to reassure Richie than any earnest protestations would have done. "Duncan would no more wash his hands of you than he would cut off his right arm."

"So, where is he?" Richie asked.

"He's in France."

"And they don't have phones there?" Richie crossed his arms.

"Of course, they have phones," Connor was stuck with sudden inspiration. "But you can't call him at work."

Maybe if they stalled long enough, Richie would recover and no-one would have to tell Duncan that they had allowed his precious lad to come to harm.

"Is he like .. a Spy?" Richie bounced on his toes. "You know, like James Bond? On a secret mission?"

Connor looked heavenwards and prayed Methos would hurry up and return..

***

"Hey," Methos came in juggling carrier bags and boxes. "Anyone want to give me a hand here?"

"Where have you _been_?" Connor hissed.

"Shopping." Methos nodded at the parcels.

"For two hours?" Connor wasn't mollified. "You said you were just popping out to get the lad a few things."

"You said you could handle a spot of baby sitting," Methos reminded him. "At least, he didn't kill you this time. What have you done with him anyway?"

"You name it, we've done it," Connor sighed. "We watched TV, played some ball, tried cooking, worked out for a bit, the lad has boundless energy and the attention span of a goldfish."

"So, where is he now?" Methos wondered.

"Taking a nap." Connor said smugly.

"What did you bribe him with?" Methos asked knowingly.

"Chocolate." Connor admitted.

"Oh yeah, that's gonna calm him down," Methos said sarcastically. "Is this how you raised Rachel ..?"

"Of course not." Connor grinned. "Its the Uncle's job to spoil their nephew. Lord knows, the lads had little enough of it in his life. Speaking of which, what on earth did you buy him?"

"A few videos, some CD's, a Soccer Ball and some books."

"Does Richie like Soccer?" Connor wondered.

"I like Soccer," Methos shrugged. "And if we tell him he does, he won't know any different will he?"

"Is that why you bought him the books?" Connor arched a brow.

"Wait and see." Methos smirked.

Predictably, Richie was excited about the very idea of getting "so many presents" and exclaimed over each and every one. But it was clear which was his favourite.

"Oh, wow, books!" Richie fell on them.

"You _like_ books?" Connor couldn't keep the surprise out of his voice.

"I only have three right now," Richie told him. "Cos, they're pretty expensive. But when I'm grown, I'm gonna have a whole roomful."

Connor frowned at some of the titles Methos had picked.

"You don't think they're a little difficult for a _twelve year old?"_

"I'm pretty bright you know. I got all A's on my last report card." Richie said proudly, already settling down to read.

"The lad's had a knock on the head and no mistake," Connor observed softly, as they pulled the door to behind them. "The Richie we know doesn't own any reading matter but Motorcycle Magazines and the other sort of Magazine. And I'll warrant he's not buying _those_ for the articles."

"He doesn't like _reading _anymore," Methos agreed. "But he'll listen to a tale for as long as you'll speak."

"So, why doesn't he read?"

"You heard him," Methos shrugged, "Books are expensive. And, they're also difficult to take with you when you run."

***

Connor looked up from his chopping as the intercom went.

"Excepting anyone else for dinner?" Methos asked.

Connor shook his head, as he wiped his hands on a cloth, picked up his sword and went to the door. He felt something in his soul still when he found Joe on his doorstep.

The Watcher looked tired and haggard and his eyes were empty. That could only mean one thing.

Someone had died.

"I'm sorry," Joe managed.

"You'd better come in."

Methos looked up sharply as they came into the kitchen. His expression went blank.

"Who?" he asked flatly.

"Is it Duncan?" Connor asked.

"No," Joe shook his head sharply. "He's .. alive."

"Alive?" Methos clarified.

"Well, I can't imagine he's feeling too good right now," Joe sighed. "Richie's dead."

"Richie?" Connor's voice rose. "That's why you .. because you  .. _Richie?"_

"Yeah, Uncle Connor?" Richie skidded in, breathlessly, looking a bit apprehensive. "I was just looking. I wasn't _touching_ the swords."

"Richie?" Joe blinked.

"Richie, this is Joe," Methos put in quickly. "He just wanted to say hi."

"Hi," Richie gave him an odd look. "Can I go now?"

"Aye lad," Connor allowed. "Leave the swords be." He called after him.

"Is he alright?" Joe wondered. "He seemed a little ..."

"He's fine," Methos nodded. "He's just twelve, right now."

"_What?_"

"Long story," Methos shrugged.

"Please tell me you haven't told Duncan that his little one is dead?" Connor groaned.

"No, I didn't." Joe shook his head.

"Well, that's a blessing." Connor relaxed.

"But Mike did." Joe winced.

"So, where is he now?" Methos looked up.

Joe shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

"Um. Well. I imagine he's coming here."

"You imagine?" Methos arched a brow.

"We lost him." Joe sighed. "He was moving pretty fast."

***

Given the speed with which Duncan actually arrived from France, Connor guessed he must have chartered a private jet.

He looked tired and haggard and totally spent.

"Do ye know?" he rasped, swaying slightly on his feet.

"Duncan, he's alive," Connor spoke gently. "Richie's alive. He's right here with us."

"He's no dead?" Duncan blinked at him, like a deer caught in the headlights. "Ma Richie's no dead?"

"No cousin," Connnor pulled him into a hug, "Your bonnie lad will be just fine."

Or, at least, Connor sincerely hoped so.

"Where is he?" Duncan demanded, looking around.

"Well, he was right here a moment ago," Connor assured him. "But Duncan about that .."

He stopped as he saw Duncan's eyes lock on something over his shoulder.

"_Richie_."

In two quick strides, Duncan crossed to the young man, half hidden by the towering potted plant and wrapped his arms around him. Breathing in the scent of his hair.

"Lord, its good to see you lad."

From the folds of Duncan's coat Richie's voice quavered uncertainly. "D Dad?"


	5. Homecoming

AN – Thanks so much for the reviews. I guess I know where you guys want this to go! I'm up for that. A little plot development first – father/son bonding coming real soon.

***

It wasn't as if Richie had _never called him Dad before._

At times, it was a long suffering, Yes Daaaad, when Richie thought he was being overly protective. On other occasions, it was a jokey, but semi-serious, Thanks …_Dad,  when_ Duncan has shared the benefit of his long life and great experience.

But just sometimes, if they were alone, and he was feeling especially safe and well loved, a hint of the lad's true feelings slipped out.

He remembered, vividly, the first time that had happened.

_"Hang on, just a sec," Richie had said into the phone, "Do you want anchovies on your half Dad?"_

_Mac had just stood in the corner of the kitchen, trying to pick his jaw off the floor._

_"Um.__ Earth to Mac?" Richie had teased, apparently completely oblivious to what he had just said. "Do you want anchovies on your  pizza, or not?"_

This wasn't like that.

Duncan's first reaction, was to the hesitant, almost fearful, tone. Hugging the lad well, in reassurance, before pulling back, keeping a hand on each shoulder, to search his face.

He saw absolutely nothing in the child's shy, uncertain, expression, that he recognised.

"Richie," he cupped the lad's chin gently. "What's wrong?"

"This, might take a while." Methos, spoke up. "You'll probably need a beer .. or three."

"Can I have one?" Richie piped up.

"No, you can't." Connor cut in.

"Soda?" Richie bargained.

"Cola? At this time of night?" Connor shook his head. "You'll have milk and cookies my lad and like it."

"Milk?" Richie said the word like it was poison.

"You want to make it warm milk?" Connor arched a brow.

"Yucky." Richie made a face.

"Alright," Duncan finally found his voice. "What exactly is going on here?"

***

"He really thinks he's twelve?" Duncan breathed. "But  .. how?"

"I think," Methos mused. "The question we need to be asking, is why?"

"And the difference is?" Connor put in.

"Why twelve?" Methos clarified. "Why not ten? Or fourteen? Or eight?"

"Could it have something to do with the nightmare?" Connor asked.

"He had a nightmare?" Duncan looked worried.

"At the Motel. He seemed to be sleeping sounding enough. At least, at first. Then he started getting restless and saying .. things."

"What kind of things?" Duncan insisted.

Connor told him.

"Damn," Duncan looked away. "Its been years since he had that one. I'd hoped .."

He looked back at his teacher.

"What were you doing in a Motel?"

"You couldn't just have asked me, how I woke him?" Connor sighed.

"No, I .." Duncan frowned. "Why how did you wake him?"

"Badly," Methos put in. "Richie killed him. The great Connor Macloed, bested by a slip of a lad." He adopted a fake Scottish accent.

"Really?" In spite of himself, Duncan's lip quirked.

"He had a knife under his pillow. I guess we all know who taught him that little trick." Connor scowled at Methos.

"It wasn't Methos," Duncan said woodenly. "Richie learnt that trick long before he met any of us."

 "And you just turned a blind eye?" Connor scolded. "I taught you better than that."

"He just needed a sense of security .."

"You couldn't have bought him a Teddy Bear?" Connor shot back.

"I figured he's grow out of it as soon as he realised he could trust us." Duncan said. "And he did."

"Which begs the question, why did he feel it needed it the other night?" Connor wondered. "He knows he's safe with us."

"Maybe he was afraid of the wallpaper," Methos joked.

At Duncan's quizzical look he clarified.

"It was from the 1970's. Anyone would be scared."

"Or maybe it had something to do with the Quickening?" Connor tried to get things back on track.

"He took a Quickening?" Duncan frowned. "Whose?"

"Now you come to mention it .." Connor frowned. "I never thought to ask."

"I was just happy he's dead," Methos said. "Of course, that was before I knew we were going to have to stock up on peanut butter and jelly."

"I'm going to call Joe." Duncan looked for the phone.

"You don't have to," Connor smiled. "He's in the spare room."

***

If Joe was surprised to be woken at such a late hour, he was feeling too guilty to complain about it.

"He name was Simon Franklin," Joe looked at his notes. "Look, Mac, I'm really, sorry about before ..."

"He's alive Joe. That's all that matters." Duncan said flatly.

Joe winced. It was clearly going to take himself some time to work his way back into the Immortal's good books. And what he was about to tell him wasn't going to help.

"Franklin?" Connor frowned. "Never heard of him."

"Not surprising," Joe put in. "He's only been Immortal a few years. Found himself a good enough teacher. But he's only taken one Quickening in that time. He seems to spend most of his times trying to avoid fighting."

"So, Richie challenged him?" Methos frowned.

Duncan and Methos exchanged a look. Richie could be hot headed, but both his teachers had drummed into him that you didn't take a challenge unless you had to, and the lad was no head hunter to seek the pleasure of the kill.

"No," Joe took a deep breath. "As far as we can tell Franklin issued the challenge."

"He thought Richie was an easy kill." Duncan realised.

"And he cheated." Methos put in.

"Methos," Connor looked at him. "This may come as a surprise to you. But not everyone cheats."

"This isn't about me," Methos defended himself. "This is about Richie. There is no way a novice like Franklin could have inflicted that kind of damage on him in  a fair fight."

"Damage?" Duncan frowned. "What damage?"

"Bad," Methos told him.

"How bad?" Duncan insisted.

"Allowed himself to be given a bath and put to bed, bad," Methos shrugged. "Of course, he was unconscious some of the time .."

"Only some of it?" Duncan shook his head, glancing over fondly, to where Richie, who had declared himself to be "not even a bit tired" was sleeping on the couch. 

"It wasn't Franklin," Joe sighed. "Richie took him in a fair fight, even gave him a chance to walk away, it was during the Quickening."

"Oh, not again .." Duncan paled.

"No," Methos shook his head. "He was definitely himself when we collected him from the Police Station."

"Police Station?" Duncan was not having a good day.

"Duncan, hush." Connor scolded. "What about the Quickening, Joseph?"

Joe swallowed. This wasn't a fate he'd wish on his worst enemy. Never mind a friend.

"The building fell on him."

***

"He had to dig himself out?" Connor was the first one to find his voice.

It wasn't something he had ever had to endure. But he could imagine the scenario. Trapped alone in the dark. Never knowing when the next piece you move might kill you yet again. Fearing that it might cause an injury from which you couldn't revive. Hungry. Thirsty. Increasingly exhausted.

Scared and alone.

"How long?"

Something about the quality of Methos voice suggested that he knew exactly what the experience was like.

And he wasn't about to share.

"His Watcher was new," Joe admitted reluctantly. "When the building came down he just assumed that Richie wasn't going anywhere .. so it wouldn't matter if he took a little holiday before he filled his report."

"How long Joseph?" Duncan added his voice to Methos.

"A week."

"Is he dead yet?" Methos asked.

"Adam .." Joe appealed to the Watcher.

"Then you'd better send him to Siberia. Because if he _ever_ crosses my path, its not just his employment that will be terminated." The ancient Immortal replied.

"Stand in line." Duncan told him.

"I'll .. deal with it," Joe promised them. "You guys take care of Richie."

"Sure," Methos murmured. "Give us the easy part."

***

"Do you want to talk about it?"

The beer that appeared in Methos field of vision made it a fair bet that he wasn't about to tell Duncan to leave. At least, not immediately..

But that didn't mean that he was ready to talk.

"I dealt with my demons a long time ago, Macleod," Methos deflected. "Right now, we need to worry about Richie."

"We always need to worry about Richie." Duncan smiled.

"He is a full time job, isn't he?" Methos smiled fondly.

"I dinna want to say this in front of Joe, but did Richie ever tell you ..?" Duncan hesitated, uncomfortable at sharing anything the lad might see as a confidence.

"That he's terrified of the dark?" Methos finished for him. "I found out."

"Camping?" Duncan teased.

"Please." Methos shuddered.

Duncan looked pensively over the brightly skyline. "Its almost never dark these days. Especially in cities .."

He let the thought trail off.

But beside him, he felt the ancient Immortal tense.

There were any number of reasons that Richie might be afraid of the dark.

None of them good.

"Go and wake Richie and put him to bed," Methos shook his head. "You know, you're dying to."

"Brush his teeth and put on his jammies?" Duncan grinned. "He'll no let me."

"He's twelve," Methos smirked. "He'll do as he's told, or you can ground him."

"It would be wrong, wouldn't it?" Duncan's lips quirked. "To enjoy the lad's infirmity too much?"

Methos gave that serious consideration.

For all of about thirty seconds.

"But think of all the fun we can have."


	6. Bumps in the night

AN – Thanks for the reviews, sorry for the long delay. Hopefully next chapter more quickly.

***

"C'mon Rich," Duncan squatted down so he could speak softly into his slumbering lad's ear. "Time to wake up now."

A slight pause.

"G'way," Richie snuggled a little closer to the pillow he was clutching and turned away from Duncan's voice. "M'sleepin."

"I can see that," Duncan bit back an amused smile, resisting the urge to shake him awake, knowing full well how dangerous _that could be. "But I need you to wake up now. C'mon Tough Guy, you can't sleep here on the couch."_

One blue eye opened to regard him curiously.

"Whatja call me?"

Duncan smiled. "It's a nickname. Its .. um .. what my Dad used to call me when I was your age." He improvised quickly.

"Oh," Richie sat up slowly, rubbing his eyes, as he swung his legs around. "You probably don't oughta call me that then."

"Why ever not?" Duncan frowned, it was on the tip of his tongue to tell him that he loved that nickname. 

"Cos, I'm a runt," Richie said matter of factly. "Everyone says so."

If Duncan had had any doubt about the wisdom of treating Richie as the twelve year old he presently believed himself to be, they vanished with that simple statement. Too much had been done to the lad, before he had had the raising of him to completely eradicate the insecurities that were embedded in his soul. Maybe, just maybe, this was a chance to lay some demons to rest.

"You're short a few good meals and no mistake," Duncan allowed fondly. "But we'll feed you up in no time."

Richie gave him a wary glance.

"I don't eat broccoli," He warned. "I'm allergic."

"Really?" Duncan queried, allowing just a hint of scepticism to creep into his voice.

This twelve year old version caved much more quickly than the teenage Richie ever had.

"OK, so I'm not like medically allergic," Richie admitted. "But I will barf all over your shoes."

"I'll try to remember that." Duncan smiled.

"So, where am I sleepin?"

***

Duncan threw open the door with a flourish and waited expectantly for Richie's reaction.

Connor had long since decreed this to be Richie's room, ever since the lad had come to visit that first Summer after they had got back from France. In the intervening years it had been decorated with Motorcycle prints and other paraphernalia guaranteed to make Richie feel at home. 

So, Duncan was completely unprepared when the lad's face fell.

"What's wrong?"

"Where do I sleep when Uncle Connor's kid comes home from College?" Richie asked quietly.

Inwardly, Duncan cursed. Of course, Richie would think was a room for a much older person, it was.

"This is just for now," He tried to reassure. "You have your very own room at home."

"In Montana?" Richie eyed him shyly.

"That's right." Duncan smiled at him.  

"What colour is it?" Richie asked cautiously.

Duncan knew that before Richie had moved into the Store he had never had his own room before. At first, his meagre possessions had looked lost and empty in the large, brick walled "spare" room. In the early days it was Tessa who had looked out pictures to decorate the walls. And he who had, given the boy the television and video from their bedroom, that they hardly ever watched.

Of course, by the time they had moved to France things were different. He remembered the black walls with silver chrome Celtic effects that the teenage Richie had picked out for his room on the barge.

_"I dunno," he had shook his head in amusement. "How are you ever going to get any sleep looking at that lot?"_

_ "Are you kidding?" Richie had laughed. "When I was fifteen, I spent six months sleeping  in a room that was Barbie pink with yellow sunflowers."_

_"Pink?" __Duncan__ had raised a brow._

_"Hey, definitely not my idea!"__ Richie had defended himself. "I never really stayed any place long enough to make it worth their while to change the décor."_

As far as he was concerned the lad could paint his room any colour he liked.

How bad could it be?

"Really?" Richie's face blossomed into a smile when he told him so. His brow furrowed slightly in concentration. "Purple? With gold stars on the ceiling?" he suggested shyly.

 "If you like," Duncan agreed. "Just remember that you're the one who has to live with it for a year."

"Why a year?" Richie looked suddenly anxious, as if he feared his new found father might be about to disappear on him again.

"Because .." Duncan was quick to reassure. "I'm not changing it every other month. You can change it once a year, on your birthday. Deal?"

"Every year?" Richie blinked. "You mean until I'm eighteen?" He sounded awed.

"Actually, I meant, for the rest of your life."

"Get real," Richie's scoffed. "You're gonna want your space long before that. You'll get some girlfriend who decides her kid needs the room, or you'll get a lodger or something. You don't gotta worry about me. I can take care of myself. I have done for a real long time."

"Richie, come here." Duncan sat down on the bed.

"I didn't do nuthin'" Richie protested, backing up a step, and casting a quick, furtive look over his shoulder for an escape route. His face paling when he realised that the only window and door were on the other side of the formidable Scot.

"For God's sake Richie, when I have I ever spanked you?" Duncan protested unwittingly to the teenager he had known.

"Please, you don't gotta," Richie didn't appear to have heard him. "I didn't mean to do anything wrong .. you just gotta tell me what's right .. I mean at the Walkers .. they wanted me to call them Susie and Mark and I wasn't allowed to eat any meat .. at the Hendersons I had to call them Uncle Rod and Auntie Sarah and I had to do all my homework before I was allowed out .. I'll be good, I promise ..you just gotta tell me how."

"Richie ..lad," Duncan put all the compassion he could muster into his tone. "Come here, _please. I give you ma word I'm no going to hurt you." His brogue thickened._

"Yeah, right, like I'm gonna trust that." Richie scoffed.

Then went white as a sheet as he realised he had actually said that out loud.

Duncan sighed. The child watching him take Slan's head hadn't looked as scared as the frightened figure before him now.

Well, he had won Richie's trust before. He could do it again.

***  
When Duncan didn't return Connor went upstairs in search of him. Standing in the doorway of Richie's room he smiled. Duncan had evidently finally succumbed to his exhaustion, having simply shrugged off his coat and kicked off his boots, before sprawling fully clothed across the bedcovers, leaving the marks of hard travel on the cream sheets. Richie, was tucked protectively under his right arm, his blonde head pillowed on Duncan's chest.

"Is that for me?" Duncan's brown eyes were suddenly open, regarding him steadily.

Connor looked down at the cut glass in his hand, filled with a generous measure of warm amber liquid. Even after all these centuries, the teacher in Connor couldn't help but feel a tad proud, that Duncan was instantly wide wake and wary at the touch of an Immortal. Richie too, Connor noted approvingly, had stirred at the approach of another, but, amnesia or no, a soft word from Duncan was enough to set him slumbering again.

"Not on an empty stomach, cousin," Connor held onto his glass. "How's the lad doing?"

"He's still Richie." Duncan shrugged.

"Is that good or bad?" Connor wondered.

"I scared him Connor. Duncan admitted softly. "I'd forgotten, how hard it was in the beginning not to say or do something that he'd take wrong. I'd hoped .."

Connor knew all too well what Duncan had hoped. That at twelve Richie might have been, as yet, untouched, by the forces which had led him down the path to crime and lawlessness. Hearing the child speak so blithely of joy riding and prostitution made that seem unlikely. Connor found himself wondering, not for the first time, what kind of childhood, if any, Richie had known.

"He looks content enough now." Connor observed, as Richie slept peacefully on. 

"I do have some experience of soothing his ruffled feathers." Duncan pointed out.

"Not to mention he's so tired he probably fell asleep on his feet before he could finish his sentence."

"That too," Duncan agreed. "Also, right now, I'm the Prodigal Father .." 

He paused.

"Which reminds me whose bright idea was it to make me a _spy?" _

"Guess." Connor inclined his head in the direct of the sleeping young immortal. 

"Oh .. of course," Duncan remembered. "The carton of milk."

"Pardon?" Connor frowned.

"It's a long story," Duncan sighed. "But Richie never gave up hope that his father would come for him. So, right now, he's overjoyed to see him .. or rather me .. but .." he trailed off.

"But you think he'll have some hard questions, once the novelty wears off?" Connor surmised.

"Oh, I know he'll have questions," Duncan scrubbed at his face. "I just wish I could think of the answers."

"You'd think better on a full stomach." Connor suggested.

"I don't want to leave him .." Duncan worried.

 "He's safe enough here, Duncan. I have a very good security system. And Methos is right next door. Also .." Connor held up a hand to forestall any further protests. "You're no good to the lad if you're wasting away. Come and eat something."

That last wasn't exactly a request.

"Seeing as you put it like that," Duncan grumbled. He wondered, fondly, if this was how Richie felt when he nagged at him. At once irritated at the overbearing attitude and grateful that the elder Immortal cared enough to insist.

He gently eased himself out from underneath Richie, replacing the spot where he had been with a pillow so the lad wouldn't wake. Pausing only to tuck the covers a little more warmly around him and drop a soft kiss on his cheek, he murmured a benediction.

"Sleep well, my bonnie lad."

Padding silently across the room in his stocking feet, he checked to make sure that the door was left ajar, so the light from the hallway spilled into the room, before following  Connor downstairs.

"Oh and by the way," Connor looked back over his shoulder as he went down. "You owe me a new set of sheets."

***  
Duncan hadn't realised how hungry he was until the platter of bread and cheese was set before him. Without waiting for the soup, he tore a hunk off the bread and cut a wedge of cheese, attempting to stuff both into his mouth at once.

"Decided you're a mite peckish after all, have you?" Connor smirked, as he brought two bowls of soup to the table.

"You know," Duncan reached for the soup. "You're not always right. I can think of at least  two occasions in the last four hundred years when you've been wrong."

"Oh aye?" Connor arched a brow. "Name them."

"Sarah and Fiona Whittaker." Duncan smirked, digging into his soup.

The spoon never made it to his mouth.

Instead, it fell from his suddenly lifeless hand, leaving a trail of bright orange across the thick grey carpet, as the sound of fearful cries cut through the apartment.

_"Richie." _Duncan's expression blanched, as he almost knocked over his chair in his haste to get upstairs.

"Another nightmare?" Connor was at his heels.

"Evidently," Duncan managed, between gritted teeth.

This was his fault. It had to be. Richie had been fine just a moment ago. He should never have left him.

They skidded to a halt outside Richie's bedroom door, arriving at the same instant as Methos, who had not even paused to put on a robe over his boxers in his haste, only to pause in horrified disbelief.

Richie's bedroom door was closed.

Methos found his voice first.

"Who the bloody hell closed the door and left the kid all alone in the bloody dark?" he seethed.

Joe, arriving more slowly, from the direction of the bathroom, paled visibly.

"Ah, that would be me." He admitted uncomfortably

Just as the piercing screams died away, to be replaced by a silence that was even more ominous.


	7. Nightmare II

AN- Thanks as ever for the reviews, hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it!

***

The sudden silence spurred Duncan into action. Casting a dark look at Joe, that promised future retribution, he pushed open the door and disappeared in the bedroom.

Left outside Methos, Joe and Connor looked awkwardly at each other.

"I'm sorry," Joe apologised. "I didn't know .."

"I thought you people were trained in observation?" Connor's tone was clipped. "Isn't this in his Watcher file?"

"Well, it will be now." Methos put in.

"Hey, Richie's a friend .." Joe replied, stung. "And we talk all the time. He's _never_ mentioned that he was afraid of the dark."

"Generally, with Richie, its the things he doesn't talk about that you need to pay attention to." Methos observed.

"Haven't you noticed how he always has at least a couple of lights burning?" Connor demanded. "Or the way he always has a flashlight in his pocket?"

"And there was I, thinking he was just pleased to see me." Methos murmured.

Connor gave him a quelling look.

"I just thought .." Joe trailed off. "I guess, I didn't think. God .." he scrubbed at his face. "What do we do now?"

"We let Duncan handle it." Connor said, with grim finality.

"But .." Joe looked worriedly in the direction of the closed bedroom door.

"Go back to bed Joe," Methos advised. "Duncan will feel guilty enough, when he calms down, without you standing out here in the cold all night."

"I suppose you're right," Joe sighed. "Goodnight all."

"And are you going to take your own advice?" Connor quirked a knowing brow at the ancient Immortal.

"The difference is, I _like making Duncan feel guilty." Methos replied lightly._

Connor snorted his opinion of that.

"Admit it, you have a soft spot for the lad."

Methos wrinkled his nose.

"Can you smell burning?"

"Oh, lord," Connor exclaimed. "I left the soup pan on the stove."

"This is what happens when you take the batteries out of the smoke alarm to put them in the TV remote." Methos pointed out.

"As I recall, that was _your_ idea." Connor said testily, as he sped towards the stairs. "By the way, nice boxers." He threw back over his shoulder.

Methos looked down at the red silk boxers, decorated with little black devils, as if he had forgotten that he was even wearing them.

"They were a _present_." He announced to the empty hallway.

***  
Inside the room Duncan snapped on the light and was not surprised to see that the bed was empty, its covers strewn across the floor as if its occupant had fought and struggled to escape from the bedding's clutches.

He couldn't see Richie anywhere.

But he didn't need the steady buzz of an Immortal presence to locate the lad, the soft whimpers and snuffling breathes of a distressed child were indication enough.

"Hey." He spoke softly.

Large blue eyes lifted to blink fuzzily at him. Richie had pressed himself back into the farthest corner of the room, in the small gap between the dresser and the wall. With his knees pulled up hard against his chest and his bare arms wrapped around them, he looked uncannily like the child he remembered himself to be.

"Did you have a bit of a scare?" Duncan asked kindly, hunkering down on one knee a few feet from the lad. Lord knows, the last thing he needed was to spook him any further. 

Richie took a shallow, quavering, breath, but didn't speak.

"Its alright now," Duncan soothed. "See? I've put the light on for you. You're safe now."

If anything, Richie whimpered even more loudly, his evident distress cutting Duncan to the soul.

"Hey, what's wrong?" he encouraged.

"Not safe … Smoke .." Richie tried to press himself a little further into the wall.

It was on the tip of Duncan's tongue to tell him that all was well, when he realised that he too could smell smoke.

"For Lord's sake Connor," he muttered at his absent teacher.

For Richie, he mustered a reassuring smile. "Its alright Rich, its just your Uncle Connor, burning the soup. Serves him right, he spent years thinking cooking was nothing but woman's work, you know."

To be fair, Duncan had also been raised that way.

But he didn't think Richie needed to know that right now.

"Its nothing to worry about." He tried to ally the lad's fears. He looked worryingly pale for an Immortal.

"Please .. don't leave me .." Richie hiccupped. "Please .. I'll be good."

"Rich," Duncan hastened to reassure. "I'm right here and I'm not leaving you."

Inwardly, he cursed himself. Hadn't he just done exactly that? No wonder the lad was upset, waking up in the dark in a strange place, with no ..

"He did," Richie's hesitant voice cut into his thoughts. "He locked me in my room and then he left me."

"What?" Duncan blinked.

"There was this big noise and the whole building shook and I could smell the smoke but I couldn't get out .. I tried real hard but I just couldn't .. and then it was real dark ..and I was all alone." Richie's voice rose in sheer panic.

Duncan could stand it no longer, he reached out and pulled the almost hysterical child, for it was difficult to think of Richie as anything but a frightened child right now, into his lap and wrapped his arms around him.

"Sh, laddie, Da's here," he soothed. "You're safe. I've got you," He kissed the top of the blonde curls. "And I'm not leaving you."

***

 "What did you put in that Hot Chocolate?" Duncan asked, as he absently stroked the sweat soaked blonde hair back from Richie's brow, as he tucked him into his own bed in Connor's ground floor den.

Methos turned around from opening the window, to dispel the last of the lingering smell of smoke, to look at the young Immortal, who had finally fallen into an exhausted sleep.

"Does it matter? It did the trick and it can't kill him."

"I wasn't aware that your license to dispense was still current." Duncan said dryly.

"Actually," Methos busied himself, unnecessarily straightening the covers on Richie's bed, refusing to meet Duncan's eyes. "I got it renewed."

"Oh?" Duncan pulled the armchair a little closer to the foldaway bed.

"Teaching your student, I thought I might need it," Methos grumbled. "I've never known anyone who manages to get himself hurt or injured on such a regular basis."

"He's Immortal." Duncan reminded him.

"And that will be $200 for the house call." Methos nodded at Richie's empty mug. 

"Point taken," Duncan gave a rueful grin. "So, is this one of those postal diplomas, from the University of Mastercard?"

"Of course not!" Methos looked faintly shocked. "Do you have any idea how many advances there have been in medical science over the last decade alone?"

Duncan sat up a little straighter.

"So, all those times you've been running Rich to College, you've actually been going to Medical School?"

"Pre-med." Methos made a face. "There have been _a lot_ of changes."

"Well, I suppose if you can spend a decade being an eternal History Post Graduate, or whatever it was, you can afford to spend a few years putting yourself through med school," Duncan grinned, as a thought occurred to him. "Are you going to have to get a job? I hear the local burger bar is looking for staff. Those little hats would really suit you."

"Dream on, Macleod." Methos wandered over to the sideboard, and pulled out a beer. "Ben Adams has a nice fat legacy, from an extremely wealthy maiden Aunt. The way Richie eats I thought I'd need the extra income."

"Do you have any idea what he talking about tonight?" Duncan asked quietly. "Has he ever said anything to you about anything like that?"

"No," Methos shrugged, "But I'd say he was most likely locked in his room when there was a fire or accident of some sort."

"That's what I thought too," Duncan sighed. "How do you think he got out?"

Methos looked at him seriously over the top of his beer bottle.

"My guess is, he didn't."


	8. The Morning After

AN- Thank you all, as ever, for the reviews and the feedback. And to RRyanForever, I can promise you, that by the time this story is over things are never going to be quite the same between 20 something Richie and any of the others, ever again! 

***

"TV? At this time in the morning?" Duncan eyed his "twelve" year old sceptically as they came downstairs into the lounge room.

"Its the cartoons. Its for kids. They wouldn't put them on, if they didn't want you to watch them, would they?" Richie reasoned.

He still looked tired, Duncan thought. There were dark hollows, and signs of strain around his eyes.

"You haven't even had breakfast yet." He argued, for forms sake.

"Thirty minutes." Richie bargained.

"Five." Duncan countered.

"Twenty five." Richie offered.

"Fifteen," Duncan surprised him. "But you have to eat up all your breakfast."

"I can do that," Richie chirruped happily, settling back on the couch with the remote. "Thanks, Dad."

Duncan pressed his lips together and tried not to notice how his heart contracted in his chest each time Richie called him that.

"You're welcome, lad." He reached out to tousle Richie's hair and was reward by a brief, brilliant smile, before he turned his attention to the cartoons.

***

"So?" Duncan leant back against the kitchen counter and addressed the three men huddled around the laptop. "How you found anything yet?"

"You know," Methos observed. "You could learn to do this yourself."

"I could," Duncan agreed. "But then I wouldn't have the benefit of your considerable experience."

"For all the good its doing us." Connor scowled at the screen as if he held it personally responsible.

"You've been at it for over an hour!" Duncan protested. "You must have found _something_."

"I'm sorry Mac," Joe sounded genuinely apologetic. "The records from those years are gradually being uploaded onto the system, but it could take decades."

"So, we're back at square one." Duncan sighed.

"Has anyone thought of just _asking Richie about the accident?" Joe enquired._

"He doesn't seem to remember anything about last night," Duncan shook his head. "He's acting as if it never happened."

"That's why he's been dogging your footsteps since daybreak, is it?" Connor surmised.

"That doesn't mean anything." Duncan protested half heartedly.

"Oh, come on, Macleod." Methos protested. "Yesterday, you were a stranger to him. This morning, anyone can see he's starting to trust you. You think that is just a co-incidence?"

Duncan paused. Richie did seem much more comfortable with him this morning.

"Maybe he does remember _something_. But you didn't see him. He was absolutely terrified. I'm not putting him through that again when there's still another way." 

"What other way?" Joe asked curiously.

The three Immortals looked at one another.

"Amanda." They replied in unison.

***

"She was out," Duncan put the phone down. "I left a message with the concierge."

"Where is she, right now?" Joe looked up.

"Don't you know?" Connor smirked.

"Not since she broke her last Watcher's nose for putting it in where it wasn't wanted." Joe winced.

"The way I heard it," Methos didn't look up from his book, "He followed into a Museum she was trying to rob and set off all the alarms."

"That was about the size of it," Joe agreed. "She said if I ever put another Watcher on her, she'd turn him into a Soprano."

"That's a bit sexist isn't it?" Duncan grinned. "Haven't you thought of using a woman?"

"We've tried, several times, they only last a few days and then they resign."

"Don't tell me she's been breaking their noses as well?" Duncan didn't think so.

"Our Amanda has a lot of pretty things." Joe sighed with resignation.

"She's bribing them?" Connor chuckled, how like Amanda.

"Vintage designer labels, antique jewellery, you name it. Never fails."

 "Well, as luck would have it, she's in Boston, so it shouldn't take her too long to get here." Duncan shrugged.

"Just as long as she doesn't go a few decades without picking up her messages like some people I know," Connor grumbled.

"It was only one decade," Duncan defended himself. "And, I've been much better since."

"Only because Risteard taught you how to use e-mail." Connor snorted.

"Um, Mac, about Richie .." Joe hesitated. "Why are you doing this? I mean, why _now?" _

Joe knew that Duncan had always refused to look up Richie's records. He had had Connor check that there was nothing in there that would make Richie a danger to Tessa, but he had always maintained that the lad had a right to his privacy and he would tell his secrets in his own good time. Even after he had learnt of the Watchers, Duncan had refused point blank to look at anything in Richie's chronicle.

Yet here he was, hacking into data bases and dragging Amanda to New York, so she could fly to Seacouver and to steal the original paper files from Child Services, and violate the very privacy that he had always sworn to protect.

"Because this is different," Duncan spoke quietly. "This isn't something to make Richie feel awkward or ashamed. This is something he's buried so deep, even he doesn't remember it anymore."

"And you think, if  you find out what happened, Richie will be back to his old self?" Joe said hopefully.

Methos winced at the unintended pun.

"I wish I knew." Duncan sighed.

***

"Hey, Richie what are you watching?" Joe sat himself down on the couch next to the young Immortal, only to do a double take at the scantily dressed characters on the TV screen. He had had no idea that there was a channel that screened movies like _that at this time in the morning._

"Hey, you shouldn't be watching that!" he looked around for the remote.

"Why not?"  Richie asked.

"Because you're too young to understand it, that's why." Joe insisted.

"I am not," Richie insisted. "See that that blonde girl? Well, she's a prostitute and that dark haired guy, he's .."

"Yes. _Alright_," Joe cut him off, casting about desperately for something to catch Richie's mercurial attention. "What do you want for breakfast?"

Food. Never failed.

Richie bounced on the sofa. "Popcorn?" he asked.

"For breakfast?" Joe queried.

"It's a cereal, ain't it?" Richie gave him an innocent look.

"I suppose it is," Joe sighed. "I guess, its healthier than chocolate cake." He mused, he'd caught the older version of Richie having that for breakfast more than once.

"There's chocolate cake?" This Richie sat up.

"No." Joe said firmly.

"But you said .."

"I was just thinking out loud."

"Oh, right," Richie paused. Joe knew better than to think he was off the hook. Sure enough. 

"Were you thinking we could make a chocolate cake?" Richie suggested.

Time to pass the buck, Joe decided.

"We'll have to ask your Dad."

***

"I can't believe you did that." Joe said incredulously, as Duncan started to wipe down the counter.

A chocolate cake, topped with chocolate fudge frosting and with a missing piece, a very large missing piece, sat on the table. Over on the couch Richie munched happily.

"It wasn't exactly hard. Connor always keeps a good store cupboard," Duncan shrugged

"I meant .." Joe rolled his eyes. "Weren't you the one who was always on at Richie to eat more healthily?"

"He eats healthily," Duncan pointed out. "He just eats lots of other things as well."

"Still, chocolate cake? For breakfast?"

"Its Richie's family tradition." Duncan shrugged.

"Aw c'mon, Mac," Joe laughed. "I can't believe you fell for that line. What parents would let their kid have chocolate cake for breakfast?"

"Tessa and I," Duncan stated simply, looking only slightly sheepish under Joe's incredulous gaze. He shrugged. "On special occasions, anyway."

"Oh and what special occasion is it today?" Joe teased. "Tuesday?"

"Joe," Duncan gave him an odd look. "Yesterday, I thought he was dead .."

"Ah," Joe blushed slightly, "Yeah, I guess that is cause for celebration. In fact, I might even join you .."

They both stilled as the phone rang.

"That might be Amanda. Finish this, will you?" Duncan pressed the cloth in Joe's hand and ducked next door to avoid Richie's prying ears.

"Just cos I''m a bartender, doesn't mean  .." Joe didn't finish the sentence. Mac was already out of earshot.

By the time the Immortal returned the kitchen was almost spotless.

"So, was it Amanda ..?" Joe trailed off as he saw Duncan looking around. "What? Did I miss a bit?"

"Where's Richie?"

Joe looked around from rinsing out the cloth. ""He was here just a moment ago. In fact, he was helping. He figured he might earn another piece of cake." Joe chuckled.

"Well, he's not here now." Duncan informed him tersely.

"Maybe he went to the bathroom?"

"No, he would have had to come past me." Duncan was starting to get a bad feeling about this. His eyes lit on the empty trash can. He was sure that had been almost full earlier. And if Richie had gone to put the trash out. That meant he was somewhere _outside_.

_Damn._ This city was like Immortal central. Blissfully unaware of either Immortals or his Immortality this twelve year old version of Richie would be an easy kill for any foe who crossed his path.

***

Duncan frantically scanned the alley, painfully aware that Richie seemed to attract trouble like a magnet. Sure enough, there was the lad, sitting on the garbage can, and he was not alone.

"I might have known," Duncan sighed.

He reached the boy in four quick strides and seized him firmly by the collar.

"Sorry ladies," he flashed the two heavily made up young women, a blonde and a redhead, who looked to be about eighteen, a tight smile. "He's spoken for."

"I am not .." Richie piped up.

"Oh, you're nice," The redhead purred. "Maybe we could double date? I like my men to be a bit older .. more experience, if you know what I mean?"

"Sweetheart," Duncan shook his head. "You have no idea. C'mon Tough Guy."

"But we were talkin'," Richie protested, as Duncan took a firm grip on his arm and led him back towards the apartment.

"Didn't anyone ever tell you not to talk to strangers?"

"A stranger is just a friend you ain't met yet." Richie corrected loftily. "Besides, I know them."

"You do?" Duncan stopped dead. Hope flared in his chest. Maybe Richie remembered something, after all. "How do you know them?"

"Her name is Tina and the other one is Lisa." Richie told him, matter of factly.

Oh. Duncan pressed his lips together in disappointment, making his next words come out harsher than he'd intended.

"And what else do you know about them?"

Richie's eyes widened slightly at his tone and he dropped his eyes to the floor.

"Nuthin." He admitted quietly, trying to squirm out of Duncan's grasp.

Damn, Duncan cursed himself for letting his emotions get the better of him and took a deep breath, making an effort to speak more kindly.

"Richie .. its too dangerous for you to be out here by yourself."

"I can take care of myself." Richie mumbled.

Duncan's mouth almost quirked at the familiar defiant refrain coming from the lad.

"I know you can." He soothed. "Lord knows, you've had to .."

"Yeah, cos you left me."

"What?" Duncan hoped he hadn't head right.

But Richie's head came up defiantly, his eyes bright with pain and anger..

"You left me," He protested. "I was your kid and I needed you and you left me all alone. Why would you do that?"


	9. Questions Answered

AN – Sorry this has been a long time coming, and for those who've asked I haven't forgotten about my other stories, but real life is real busy right now – so any writing time is precious, please bear with me. You know I'd rather be doing this J

***

Duncan sucked in his breath. Trust Richie to pick his moment. Standing in a New York alleyway, amidst the graffiti and the dumpsters, in the early morning chill was not the place he would have chosen to talk about this.

"Richie, I wish I could have  .." he began.

"Don't you dare blame Mom," Richie said fiercely, balling his fists angrily by his sides. "It wasn't her fault .. she _died."_

"Oh, Rich, .." Duncan had to swallow hard, that the lad would think such a thing of him. "Of course, it wasn't her fault. She loved you."

"Like you'd know," Richie challenged. "You weren't there."

"No," Duncan let out a shuddering breath. "And I am more sorry for that, than I can say, lad."

Richie gave him an odd look. He'd hoped for some kind of explanation. Some reason that his father had taken so very long to find him again. But he's expected evasion, excuses. He hadn't expected his Dad to care so deeply about what he had missed.

It was at once reassuring and terrifying.

"So, why?" He asked, genuinely curious this time. "Why did you go?"

Duncan weighed up his options. He didn't want to lie to the lad. But Richie wasn't ready to hear the truth. Not yet.

Not all of it anyway.

"Look, Rich, you know that I have a pretty dangerous job?"

"Dangerous?" Richie eyes widened and his face took on a stricken expression. "You mean you could get hurt?"

Duncan was about to point out that espionage wasn't exactly the profession of choice for those looking for a good pension plan and a nice pair of slippers by the fire. Then he realised that, at twelve, Richie's ideas were probably the product of movies where the hero managed to defeat a clutch of uzi wielding maniacs, without spilling so much as a drop of his martini.

"Maybe," Duncan couldn't bring himself to lie about that. "But, I'm pretty good at looking out for myself. I've been doing it for a long time."

"Oh," Richie tried to hide his feelings, stuffing his hands into his pockets and ducking his head, but the hurt was written all over his face. "I get it. Little kids are a lot of work and bother, huh? You hadda look out for yourself. You couldn't have a little kid tagging along."

"Richie  .."

"But its, OK, now," Richie looked up with desperate eagerness. "Cos, I'm bigger. Practically a teenager. You don't gotta worry about me. I can look out for myself. You won't hardly know I'm around."

Duncan looked down at that, earnest, hopeful, face, all too aware that Richie was still braced for rejection.

"Not good enough." He said flatly.

Before Richie's face could fall, he reached out and cupped his hand under his chin, "I've missed out on too much of your life already, I _want _to know you're around, I want to come home after a hard day and find your things underfoot, I want to cook food you've never heard of and watch you make faces at it, even as you clear your plate, I want to take you to ball games and the park and all the things you've never done, I want to see your face when you graduate College, for Lord's sake lad, don't you know by now, you mean the world to me?"

"But you've only just met me." Richie said in a small voice, somewhat overwhelmed.

"I know, I know." Duncan tried to reign in his feelings. Still, it wasn't exactly a lie. After all, in a life that spanned over four centuries, time was a relative concept. "I didn't _know Tough Guy. On my parents graves, I swear, if I had known anything about you, I would have found you after Emily died, and brought you home to live with me."_

"But, what about your job and stuff?" Richie needed to know.

"Nothing is more important in my life, than you lad." Duncan vowed. "You are my son and I love you."

Richie looked at him in wide eyed wonder, a small smile growing in his lips.

"C'mere, Tough Guy," Duncan hugged him, feeling a spark of joy when Richie slipped his arms around him and timidly hugged him back.

Then he felt Richie shivering.

"Hey," he nudged gently. "You want to go back inside now?"

"Oh." Too abruptly Richie went to push back from him, assuming that he wanted to end the embrace. But Duncan was ready for that. Shifting his grip he scooped Richie up and started to carry him back inside.

"Daaaad, whatcha doin'?" Richie protested. But he was laughing and making no effort to squirm free.

Which was a relief, because although Richie was still smaller than Duncan, he had bulked up a lot since he became Immortal and it wouldn't take that much to drop him.

And Duncan really didn't want to have to explain about Immortal healing.

"I'm carrying you," he explained. "Because now I have you, I'm never going to let you go, ever again. Is that OK?"

Richie looked up at him, resting his head, just slightly, against Duncan's chest.

"I guess." he smiled shyly.

"Good." Duncan smiled back.

It was a start.

***

"Do you want peanut butter on this?" Duncan asked, buttering the bread.

"Yeah, sure," Richie tipped his head on one side. "You ain't answered my question."

"You noticed that, huh?" Duncan smiled fondly at him. "You'd make a pretty good spy yourself."

"Now, you're changin' the subject." Richie rolled his eyes.

"I learnt from the best." 

Richie furrowed his brow in confusion. "You mean me, dontcha?"

"Don't worry about it," Duncan tousled his hair. "Here, one peanut butter tripe decker surprise."

"Thanks," Richie took the sandwich, eagerly taking a bite. He chewed with satisfaction. "You still ain't answered my question."

"You're pretty smart, you know that?" Duncan teased.

"Daad." Richie whined.

"Alright," Duncan grinned. "The answer to your question is .. yes."

"You mean it?" Richie's face lit up. "You really, really mean it?"

"I'll never promise you anything I don't mean Rich." Duncan vowed.

"Oh Dad," Richie threw down the sandwich and hugged Duncan so tightly that he squeezed the breath out of him. Duncan grinned happily. This was progress indeed.

"Um .." Richie pulled back looking awkward. "Does it have to be a puppy?"

"Well, it might have trouble growing into a dog otherwise." Duncan teased.

"No, I mean," Richie was deadly serious. "Could we get an older dog. Like from a pound? Maybe, one of the ones that nobody else wants."

Duncan looked at him and his expression softened. Even after all they had been through together, Richie could still be remarkably closed mouthed about his past. It seemed somewhat disloyal to interrogate this younger, more pliant version.

Still, if Richie wanted to tell him.

"Was that what it was like, at the Orphanage?" he asked gently.

"People like the little kids," Richie shrugged. "They're cuter. And girls. People like girls. They're easier."

"Was it all bad?" Duncan hoped not.

"Some of the places were okay," Richie shrugged. "But it didn't matter how much I liked 'em, you know? She'd get pregnant or he'd get a new job and they'd send me back."

"That must have been hard." Duncan sympathised.

"You get used to it," Richie shrugged. "Sometimes, I was glad."

"Oh?" Duncan willed every fibre in his being to appear calm and disinterested. He didn't want to spook the lad.

"I can be quite a handful." Richie admitted quietly.

"I was no angel when I was a lad," Duncan fished. "But my Dad was pretty fair, he only punished me when I deserved it."

"I tried to be good. But sometimes, I wasn't even sure what I'd done wrong," Richie looked down. "It was when he drank, people can get pretty mean when they drink. But its not their fault. They don't know what they are doin."

"Who told you that?" Duncan asked.

"Maggie. She was my social worker for a bit. She was nice."

"I'm glad," Duncan said sincerely.

"I don't think he liked me much, though," Richie said thoughtfully. "He sent me to my room a lot. I really hated that room. It had the worst wallpaper."

"Worse than the pink walls with yellow sunflowers?" Duncan asked gently, before he remembered that Richie had been older then. Fortunately, this Richie didn't seem to notice.

"Much worse," he nodded. "Big green goopy swirls. I mean, it wasn't even a real pattern. Please, can I have another piece of chocolate cake"

***

"That was touching," Methos threw him a beer and sprawled on the sofa before twisting the cap off his own bottle.

"How much of it did you hear?" Duncan asked.

"All of it." Methos shrugged.

Duncan waited. But nothing more was forthcoming. He sighed. Clearly Methos was going to make him work for his pearls of wisdom. That way, if things went awry, he could pretend it was all the Highlander's own idea.

"And?"

"And what?" Methos looked up, if Duncan had initiated the conversation. "Are you asking for my opinion?"

"Do you have one?" Duncan arched a brow.

"How do you think Amanda will feel when she realises that she had a wasted journey?" 

"Is that likely to happen?" Duncan raised a brow.

"I'm not sure," Methos pressed his lips together. "That pattern he was just describing? That was the hideous wallpaper back at the Motel."

"When he had the nightmare?"

"The very same." Methos agreed.

Duncan looked thoughtfully into his beer. 

Maybe they wouldn't need to go back to Seacouver, after all.


	10. Adventures in Richie sitting

AN – Thanks so much for the reviews. Sorry for the delay, I've been really sick. Luckily this was mostly written already, so I've only had to tweak bits. And yes – Richie will remember everything! And I mean, everything. (You'll see)

***

"I take it, Amanda is still not answering her phone?" Connor raised a brow, as Duncan slammed down the phone with a growl.

"No," Duncan scrubbed at his face and tried to collect himself.

"I told you," Methos didn't take off his headphones, which were tinily hissing rock music. "She'll be on the plane by now."

"So, you've said. More than once." Duncan glared at him. "How can you hear what we're saying with that stuff blasting away, anyway?"

"I'm lip reading," Methos shrugged. "And this stuff is R.E.M. which I have it on good authority that you quite like."

"You do?" Connor raised a brow. "I taught you better than that kinsman." He teased.

"I can tolerate it, at a _low _volume," Duncan huffed. "Speaking of which, I thought you bought that for Richie?"

"I did," Methos shrugged. "I just haven't given it to him yet."

"You'd better go face the music, Duncan," Connor advised. "The traffic can be a nightmare at this time of day. No sense in compounding your sins by being late picking her up at the airport."

"Maybe, I can pick up some trinket to soothe her ruffled feathers on the way." Duncan reached for his coat. "I just need to tell Richie where I'm going."

"Hang on," Methos pulled off the headphones. "You stay here. I'll go and collect Amanda."

"What? Why?" Duncan asked.

"Because, cute as Richie is when he gets all pouty and jealous, I think he's had enough upsets in his life these last few days."

"Richie isn't jealous of Amanda."

"Your Richie isn't," Methos assured him. "But this Richie isn't going to take too kindly to dear old Dad coming home with a new pretty lady friend on his arm."

"He has a point," Connor put in. "The boy just found you, he isn't going to want to share."

"Somehow, I don't see Amanda as a visiting maiden Aunt." Duncan pointed out.

"So, we'll tell him she's my girlfriend." Methos suggested.

"You'll what ..?" Duncan spluttered.

"Its not like it'll be the first time." Methos shrugged.

Duncan's jaw dropped.

"You never did tell us how you two first met?" Connor enquired with a grin.

"Didn't I?" Methos said. He picked up the keys to Connor's car and left.

***

"And he's coming down the court .. and there's just one man between him and the net .." Richie kept up a running commentary as he dribbled the basketball down the hallway.

Duncan bit back a grin. When he was first training Richie, he had occasionally chided the lad for talking when he should be saving his breath for fighting, but as his stamina grew, he had encouraged him to taunt his opponents with his wisecracks, people who lost control of there emotions made more mistakes. Richie's sharp wit and fast tongue was one of his best weapons.

"And he feints to the left .." Richie went right, "and he's approaching the hoop .."

Laughing, Duncan made a token effort to block the lad, unfortunately, Richie's momentum was too great to allow him to stop in his stocking feet on the polished wooden floor and he kept right on sliding, bring the coat rack that they were using as a basketball hoop crashing down onto the hall table, with enough force to smash a large china vase.

"Oh shit," Richie looked up at Duncan with worry and consternation.

Before he could rebuke the lad for his language, Duncan realised that he had other things to worry about. Attracted by the noise, Connor was standing in the doorway, and his teacher did not look pleased.

"Sorry," Duncan shrugged sheepishly. "I'll pay for the vase."

"Remind me again which one of you is supposed to be twelve?" Connor scowled.

"Maybe we could stick it back together?" Richie offered nervously.

Connor pursed his lips, looking down at the shattered pieces and then up at the lad's anxious pinched face.

"Oh, what the … I never liked the dammed monstrosity anyway." He looked at Richie, "I looked out some books you might like, they're on the coffee table. Why don't you go and take a look?"

"Books?" Richie was on his feet in a single bound, which had Duncan casting a smug look at his teacher, he took three steps towards the living room, before turning back on his heel. "Um.. don't you want I should help clean this up?"

"If I let you clean this up, you'd like as not cut yourself my lad," Connor scoffed. "Away with you."

"I suppose that means I get stuck with clean up duty." Duncan groused, once Richie was out of earshot.

"You'd be as like to cut yourself as the boy," Connor shook his head, as he headed towards the closet for a broom. "Just get out from under my feet."

Surprised to be let off so easily, Duncan just shrugged. "OK."

He almost made it to the door.

Almost.

"Although, if you were of a mind to do me a favour .." Connor's voice drifted back.

***

"So, why exactly am I doing this?," Duncan chewed his pencil and looked again at his list.

"Think of it as penance," Connor chuckled, as he tipped the last of the shards of pottery into the refuge sack. "Good for the soul."

"Yeah, but why this?" Duncan scribbled something else on his list.

"The boy needs some new clothes."

"What happened to the clothes Methos bought him?"

"Chocolate cake, Cola, Melted Butter, and Ketchup," Connor ticked them off. "These modern detergents aren't always as good as they claim." 

"Oh," Duncan grinned. "Well, I think that about covers it." He offered Connor the list.

Connor took it from him.

"You missed something." He handed it back.

"I did?" Duncan frowned, scrutinising the list. "What?"

"The part where you go out and buy them." 

"I couldn't just pay for the vase?" Duncan offered mournfully.

"No."

"I still don't see why I have to be the errand boy." Duncan grumbled. "You know Richie's size as well as I do."

Connor didn't reply.

"You already chose him some clothes, didn't you?" Duncan guessed.

"The boy couldn't abide them," Connor huffed. "He said they were ..geeky."

***

Connor came into the living room and looked around. Everything was in its place. Which meant something was definitely missing.

"Joseph, where's Richie?"

Joe looked up from typing on his computer.

"I thought he was with you."

For a moment Connor debated the possibility that the boy was pursuing some relatively harmless pursuit, like playing with the swords, rather than the one thing that had been strictly forbidden to him.

And then he remembered who he was dealing with.

"Richard, Ryan Macleod, I swear you live to test the patience of your elders." He muttered, as he headed towards the front door.

Sure enough, the boy was playing with his basketball in the alleyway, as if he hadn't a care in the world.

At least, not until he spotted Connor glowering at him.

"Um, You wanna play?" he offered. His usual glib tongue deserting him when he saw the fierce look on his Uncle's face.

"I thought you Father made it very clear that you were not allowed out here by yourself." Connor scolded.

Richie bristled at the sheer unfairness of that.

"He said it was dangerous, he never said I couldn't do it."

Connor opened his mouth to make a sharp retort, only to realise that the lad was probably speaking no more than the truth. And if he had grown up in a neighbourhood where going to school or the drugstore was a peril in itself, then who could blame him if he was a little cavalier with his personal safety.

"Alright then," Connor put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "Just so we are clear on this. You are not to go out that front door unless you have an adult with you, alright?"

"Geez, you guys are acting like I don't know how to cross the street by myself. I'm not a baby," Richie protested. "I know my way around."

"Not in New York, you don't," Connor started to propel him back inside. "There are bad people about."

"I ain't exactly a boy scout, in case you hadn't noticed," Richie pointed out. "The first time I was arrested, I was ten."

"And you think that's something to be proud of, do you?" Connor raised a brow.

"Tis where I come from." Richie boasted.

"Really?" Connor made his way back into the lounge room.  "Personally, I would have been more impressed if you _hadn't _been caught."

Richie's jaw dropped.

Connor took advantage of the lad's, no doubt temporary, speechless, to drive his point home.

"You have to stay inside, where either I or Joe can see you."

Richie nodded earnestly. "I'll just go sit right over here on the sofa and read my book."

To show his good intentions he went over to the sofa and sat down, holding the book out in front of him.

"See?" he grinned.

And in that moment he truly meant it.

***

"Whatcha doin' Joe?" Richie lolled against the table.

"Um ..er .." Joe quickly closed down the screen displaying the Watcher information. "I'm just checking on my e-mail."

"What's an email?" Richie stumbled over the word.

Joe frantically tried to think how widespread public access to e-mail accounts was by the mid 1980's.

"It's a spy thing ain't it?" Richie bounced on his toes. "Is that why there was a picture of a sword?"

Oh _lord_. Joe had really hoped that Richie hadn't seen that.

"My Dad has a sword." Richie confided.

"Did he show you that?" Joe was surprised.

"Naw, I saw it in his coat."

Time to change the subject, Joe decided.

Too late.

"Why does my Dad have a sword?"

Joe swallowed hard. Mac would have his guts if he let anything slip.

"I think you should ask him."

"I would," Richie nodded. "But he ain't here. You know, dontcha?"

"Well, its kind of a Game," Joe figured that was safe enough. "Your Dad and Adam and Uncle Connor  .. are like the good guys .."

"What about you?" Richie cut in. "Aren't you a good guy?"

"Well, yeah," Joe was beginning to see why Duncan had decided to just cut to the chase and had simply told Richie about Immortals when he had first broken into the Store. The kid never ran out of questions. "But .. I'm in a different kind of organisation .."

"Are you in the Mob, or something?"

"No, I'm not in the _Mob_." Joe shook his head. "Isn't it past your bedtime?"

"Its only 8.30." Richie laughed. "Sides, I don't have a bedtime. I just stay up until I get tired."

Joe frowned, that was no way to look after a child. Unless, of course.

"That's a lie, isn't it?"

***

Connor didn't know what scared him the most. The immediate and unmistakable hum of an Immortal ringing his doorbell. Or the fact that the boy was no-where to be seen.

Neither boded at all well for young Risteard. Connor Macleod of the Clan Macleod, did not like being scared.

"Amanda." He greeted his visitor and didn't know whether to feel better or worse.

"Hello Connor," she offered up her cheek to for a kiss.

"Methos went to pick you up from the airport."

"Oh, I got an earlier flight." Amanda swept in. 

"And you didn't think to call?"

"I thought about it. Aren't you going to offer a lady a drink?" Amanda pouted. "Oh and leave the door, Richard is bringing the rest of my bags."

"Is he indeed?"

"He's cute when he's twelve. Although, I really think you should be more careful, letting him out on his own like that. Duncan's usually more cautious."

"Duncan isn't here right now." Connor said tightly.

"I think this is everything," Richie dropped Amanda's four bags onto the hardwood floor.

"Thank you Richard," Amanda purred. "Such muscles. Have you been working out?"

"Nice try lady," Richie held his hand. "You promised me a fifty."

"A fifty?" Amanda was shocked. "It was a twenty and not a cent more."

"So pay up then." Richie gave her a cheeky grin. "I got witnesses now."

"What you've got young man, is trouble," Connor cut in. "Didn't you hear me tell you not to go outside?"

"You said I wasn't to go out the front door." Richie said, looking far too smug for Connor's liking.

"And?" he growled.

"An' I went out the window." Richie grinned at his own cleverness.

"You don't go on your own, at all my lad. Under any circumstances. Do I make myself clear?"

"Geez, yeah. You don't gotta get so uptight about it."

"Oh, I think I do," Connor turned him around and gave him a swat on the rear, hard enough to show he meant business. "Now, go and sit on the couch, and read your book. And, don't move, until I say so."

Richie gave him a mutinous glare, but walked slowly over to the couch, throwing a sulky look over his shoulder at Connor as one hand rubbed his smarting backside. He sat down carefully and tucked his legs under him, picking up his discarded book, all the while glaring resentfully at the older Immortal.

"Good lad." Connor said mildly.

***

"Do you think that was such a good idea?" Amanda asked.

"You'd rather I'd told our "twelve" year old he was Immortal, and he mustn't go out to play in case someone cuts off his head, I suppose?" Connor scoffed.

"Of course not, but .."

"Amanda," Joe came in, his smile of welcome turning to a frown as he saw Richie on the couch. "I thought I sent him to bed?"

"You sent him to bed?" Amanda looked in disbelief at the clock. It was still early.

"He was asking all these questions that I couldn't answer .." Joe confessed. "So, when he lied to me, I just thought, what the heck. He went didn't he?"

"Oh he went alright," Connor agreed. "Then he went someplace else."

"Oh no," Joe groaned, as realisation dawned. "He went outside again didn't he? Is he OK? Was he hurt?"

"Only his pride." Connor dismissed that.

"Oh, I think you're going to find you made quite the impression," Amanda corrected.

"So, he's a mite sulky right now. He'll get over it soon enough." Connor shrugged.

"He's twelve now," Amanda reminded him. "What are you going to do when he gets over that?"

Joe paled. "Um. You don't actually think there's a chance that he's going to remember any of this, do you?"

"I honestly have no idea," Amanda admitted. "But I wouldn't want to be in either of your shoes if he does."


	11. The Great Escape

As ever, thanks for the reviews. I swear that all the stories will get finished, eventually, but flu, real life and the holidays, have all been conspiring to take me away from the computer lately, so I can only promise that I'll update when I can.

***  
"What is it?" Joe asked worriedly as the two Immortals tensed. "Or should I be asking who is it?" he amended as he saw a familiar look in their eyes.

"Duncan?" Amanda suggested.

"Maybe," Connor stood ready. "Or it could be Methos."

"Methos is here?" Amanda said in surprise.

"Well, he was until he went to pick you up from the airport." Joe told her.

"Methos was the one who went to the airport?" Amanda paled slightly. She'd been confident enough of her ability to get round any mood Duncan might produce at a wasted trip. After all, he was the one asking her for help. But Methos was an entirely different matter.

"The traffic's pretty much bumper to bumper at this time of day," Connor smiled thinly. "There and back."

Before she could respond Methos stalked in. His face was completely expressionless. His gaze settled on Amanda.

"Methos," she trilled nervously, "How wonderful to see you. Its been .."

"Weeks?" Joe suggested helpfully.

Amanda shot him a venomous look.

"I missed you." Methos told her.

"Yes. Well. About that .." Amanda improvised. "You see, I had every intention of taking the flight Duncan booked but then this lovely young man offered to take me in his private jet and I thought of poor Richie and how it was really an errand of mercy and so .."

Anything else she might have said was cut off when Methos crossed the room in three long strides and kissed her firmly on the mouth.

"I missed you." He repeated, brushing her cheek tenderly with his thumb.

"Oh," Amanda smiled coquettishly as realisation dawned. "Well, if you put it like that." She put her arms around him and kissed him firmly back.

Connor and Joe looked at each other in stunned surprise.

"Um. Have _we missed something?" Joe hazarded as they watched Methos loop his arm around Amanda and lead up upstairs._

"We?" Connor raised a brow. "You're the Watcher."

"Yeah. Well," Joe looked awkward. "In five thousand years you gotta expect a few gaps."

"It might help if you didn't let him write his own Chronicle." Connor observed.

***

Duncan scowled as he struggled past Connor with the myriad of packages into the lounge room.

"You know, we could just have waited until Amanda got here. She loves to shop. Especially with my credit card."

"Yes, but think about _what_ she would have bought him. Do you really want to send our twelve year old out in black leather pants and a fitted tee?"

"Good point," Duncan grinned. "Where is he? I want to show him the jacket I've bought him."

"He's in his room, reading." Joe announced.

"Connor, if he's found your stash of Playboy .." Duncan warned.

"Not _that_ kind of reading. Methos bought him some books. Turns out your laddie was quite the bookworm."

"This I have to see," Duncan picked out a glossy black bag and headed up the stairs. "Bring the rest, will you Connor?" he tossed over his shoulder.

"What did your last servant die of?" Connor groused, even as he began to pick up the packages.

Before he could make it to the bottom of the stairs, Duncan reappeared at the top. He face was creased with concern.

"He's not there."

Connor closed his eyes and prayed that he was wrong. "Did you check the bathroom?" he asked without much hope.

"Yes, I checked the bathroom," Duncan snapped. 

"Did you check the window?" Joe added.

"The window? Why would I ..?" Duncan frowned. "Oh no, tell me he didn't. Damn it Connor, I asked you to watch him."

"I canna watch him every second Duncan. The lad has to take some responsibility. I made it quite clear that he wasn't to go out by himself again." 

Duncan fixed him with a steady gaze.

"What do you mean? Again?"

***

"So, let me get this straight," Duncan paused in his pacing to glare incredulously at Joe. "He asked you a couple of awkward questions, so you sent him to bed."

Joe opened his mouth to protest that the kid had also lied to him. But somehow, trying to wangle a later bedtime no longer seemed like such a dreadful crime. More like, normal behaviour for a twelve year old.

"That's about the size of it." He admitted unhappily.

"And you thought he'd just stay put?" Duncan threw up his hands in despair. "For God's sake Joe, this is Richie we're talking about."

"Oh c'mon Mac, I know Rich is good now. But at twelve? There's no way he should have been able to get past Connor's security system."

"Except that it was still early and I hadn't actually set it yet." Connor informed him.

"Oh." Joe realised.

"And then, you," Duncan turned his scowl on Connor, making his disapproval plain. "You punished the lad for your own carelessness." 

 "It was just a swat," Connor defended himself. "I'd told him the first time that he wasn't to go out by himself."

"The _first_ time?" Duncan blinked.

"Look, granted we're not his favourite people right now," Joe cut in rapidly, before this could escalate any further. "But he couldn't have got out again. I mean, the alarm is set now, isn't it?" Connor nodded. "He can't bypass that," Joe continued. "So he has to be somewhere in the apartment, right?"

"That would depend," Duncan said dryly, as his eyes alighted on set of matched luggage. "How long has Amanda been here?"

"Long enough to help our little thief fly the coop." Connor admitted.

"Except that Amanda is kinda busy right now." Joe reminded him.

"Busy?" Duncan looked up. "What do you mean, busy?"

***  
Duncan took the stairs two at a time and burst into Methos' room without knocking, with Connor close on his heels. Methos was sprawled on the bed.

"What have you done with Amanda?"

Methos rolled over onto one elbow, carefully rearranging the folds of the black silk dressing gown to ensure that they didn't reveal anything too .. revealing. "We went to Disneyland once." He reflected.

"Try again." Duncan hissed.

Amidst the crumpled sheets and eiderdown cast off onto the floor, Amanda's perfume still lingered in the air.

"Um." Joe put in hesitantly from the doorway, having come up more slowly behind the two Immortals. "Where is Amanda, anyway?"

"She went to get us something to drink," Methos looked around.

"She wasn't downstairs." Connor murmured.

Duncan gave Methos a thin smile. "Looks like you've been dumped for a younger man."

"Story of my life." Methos shrugged.

"Oh I really hope Richie remembers this," Joe chortled. "The Five Thousand Year Old Lothario here dumped for his boyish charm."

"He'll be insufferable." Duncan groused, with fond affection. It would be something worth seeing.

"Richie," Methos sat up, concerned. "She's gone out with Richie?"

"Who's gone out with Richie?" Amanda appeared in the doorway, carrying a bottle of champagne and two glasses.

For a moment no one spoke.

"Where have you been?" Duncan was the first to find his voice.

"I went out to get something to drink." Amanda pushed past him to sit on the bed.

"What was wrong with the bottles in the pantry?" Connor demanded.

"Really Connor," Amanda tossed her hair. "You can't expect me to drink those vintages."

"That's you told." Methos smirked.

Connor gave him a disapproving look. "That, is my dressing gown."

***

"Duncan, this is madness," Methos, tried to remonstrate with him. "You can't just wander the streets of New York in the hopes of bumping into him."

"Well, I can't just sit here," Duncan retorted, tying his shoelace with such force that the lace came off in his hand. "Damn."

Methos pushed him back into the chair.

"Look, there have to have been at least three Watchers outside. One of them must have followed Richie. We'll get Joe to make a few calls. And then we'll go pick him up. Simple."

The Watcher was happy to oblige. Glad to be in the right for once.

"I left messages," he put the phone down. "We should hear something soon."

"Soon?" Duncan demanded. "Why not now?"

"C'mon Mac," Joe spoke without thinking. "You can't expect them to leave their phones on all the time. What if they are Watching a Challenge? That would be downright dangerous."

"A Challenge?" Duncan paled.

"Oh hell, Mac," Joe swallowed. "Look, I didn't mean, I mean it could be .."

The phone rang.

"That was quick." Methos murmured.

Joe picked up the phone. "Um. Yes. No. Yes he is. Hang on a minute." He passed the phone over to Connor. "Its for you. It's the Police."

Connor took the phone, his face expressionless.

"Nash."

Duncan hovered with impatience as Connor spoke in a few brief monosyllables and put the phone down.

"Is it Richie? What happened? Is he OK?"

"How much is the bail?" Methos enquired, earning a dark look from Duncan and a reproachful frown from Amanda.

"He hasn't been arrested," Connor corrected. "Quite the opposite in fact."

"What?" Duncan demanded.

"Apparently, your little one is quite the hero," Connor told him. "I don't have all the details yet. But it seems there was some sort of accident. They want us to collect him from the Hospital."

"Was he hurt?" Duncan worried. If Richie had been injured, things could get very complicated.

"Apparently, there wasn't a scratch on him." Connor looked pained. That could only mean one thing.

"Not one?" Duncan sank down into the chair. "He died, didn't he?"

"I would say so." Connor agreed.

"So, is he OK now?" Joe wanted to know. "I mean, is he himself again now?"

"Well," Connor allowed himself a small smile. "He's alive. And he asked where his motorbike was."


	12. ER

"I hate Hospitals." Methos muttered, looking around the crowded ER. There was no sign of Richie.

"And you became a Doctor .. because?" Duncan started to head towards the Nurses Station.

"There are fringe benefits," Methos shrugged. "Do you know how many times in history the Temples have been the only places with any decent plumbing?"

"Not to mention a never ending supply of vestal virgins." Duncan muttered sourly.

Methos stopped.

"This is about Amanda, isn't it." He sighed.

"Amanda's a grown woman," Duncan spoke tightly. "Who she chooses to .. spend time with .. is entirely her business."

"Oh, well," Methos said. "That's alright then."

He turned and headed off again towards the nurses station, looking back to see Duncan still standing there with his mouth hanging open.

"Aren't you coming?" he asked innocently.

***

Instead of directing them to a room, the Nurse nodded towards a waiting area, where a middle aged man, juggling notes and coffee, stood up to greet them. "You're here for Mr Ryan? I'm Detective Davies." He introduced himself.

Duncan and Methos exchanged a quick look.

"Duncan Macleod. And this is Adam Pierson. Something we can help you with Officer?" Duncan said mildly.

"Um. Which one of you did I speak to on the phone?" Davies frowned.

"That would be my cousin, Russell Nash," Duncan told him. "He said there had been some sort of accident?"

"That's one way of putting it," Davies agreed wryly.

"Is Richie in some sort of trouble?" Methos asked.

"No, nothing like that," Davies hastened to reassure. "A couple of kids were out joyriding. Unfortunately, their driving was as bad as their judgement. Seems they had been drinking. Drove the car straight through a store window into a concrete pillar. As soon as they realised the car was totalled the kids made a run for it .. didn't get far .. we caught 'em before they'd gone two blocks .. but the car went up like a firecracker on the fourth of July. According to the witnesses, Mr Ryan was at the back of the Store. The Store Owner particularly remembered him, because.. well .." Davies looked embarrassed.

"Not everyone who wears a leather jacket is a criminal." Methos observed mildly.

Davies coughed, looking at Methos black leather coat.

"Of course not. My daughter, Sophia, she's fifteen. She wants a leather jacket for her birthday, one of those designer labels. I told her my first car didn't cost that much." Davies joked. He looked down at his notes. "Actually, that jacket probably saved your friend's life."

"Oh?" Duncan enquired.

"It seems the Store owner had been downright negligent about the regulations for storing flammable materials, .. he's already facing charges .. there were secondary explosions going off all over the place. The fire crews did a great job getting everyone out safely, or so they thought. Turns out there was a little girl, trapped out of sight under some fallen shelving, by the time her cries were heard, the fire was pretty fierce .. and the smoke .. well .."

"Richie went back in for the girl." Duncan realised.

"Reckless type is he?" Davies asked, not without a certain respect.

"Only when there is a R in the month." Methos said lightly.

"Well, he was damn lucky," Davies shut his notebook and put it back in his pocket. "I don't mind telling you now, I thought the kid had bought it at one point, this big explosion went off right next to him, but he must have a whole hoard of guardian angels, cos after a minute or two, he just picked himself up and got himself over to the little girl and got them both out of there. His jacket was toast though."

He looked Duncan straight in the eye. "He saved her life. The Paramedics said just a little longer and the smoke inhalation alone .. well .. Her parents are here. They'd like to speak to him if he's up to it."

"I'll have to ask Richie." Duncan said. "Can we see him now?"

"Yeah, sure," Davies nodded. "Down the hallway. 233."

***

"237, 235," Duncan counted off the room numbers as he made his way down the hallway. "233."

As if in confirmation, the presence of an Immortal washed over him. He pushed open the door to the examining room, and looked around. It appeared to be empty. But the thin cold steel suddenly pressed up against his neck said otherwise.

He held very still.

"Mac." Richie stepped back, shock all over his face.

"Expecting someone else?"

"I asked them to call Connor's place. I wasn't sure which one of you guys would come." Richie looked away.

"Rich .." Duncan was slightly taken aback at the lad's attitude.

"I lost your sword," Richie said abruptly, looking up to meet his eyes. "I'm sorry."

Duncan felt almost relieved. Of course, the lad would feel awkward about that.

"Richie. That's your sword. I gave it to you. And you didn't exactly mislay it. A building fell on you." Duncan corrected, putting a gentle hand on his shoulder. 

"I tried to find it. I mean, I know its real valuable .."

"Not half as valuable to me as you are." Duncan spoke softly, hoping to reassure.

Richie didn't answer.

"And we know where it is. We can always send Methos, to dig it out for you." He joked, hoping to raise a smile.

"Methos?" Richie blinked.

"He'll be here in a minute. He just went to settle your bill." 

"Methos is paying the bill?" Richie asked hollowly.

Apparently, the Hospital were having a little trouble finding your medical insurances with those details you gave them." Duncan grinned.

"Oh." Richie toyed with the blind.

Duncan took a moment to study his former student. His hair damp and slightly mussed had clearly been recently washed, although it was decidedly singed in places, dressed in a regulation Hospital Gown, the tattered remains of his leather jacket hung over a nearby chair. He'd had a bad time of it. A very bad time of it recently, all things considered.

 "I brought you some clothes."

"Thanks." Richie didn't move.

"Of course, you could go home like that, but from where I'm standing, it looks a mite draughty."

"Home? You mean back to Connor's right?" Richie asked.

***  
"Seacouver?" Methos protested, "You want to take him back to Seacouver? Are you completely insane?"

"Will you keep your voice down?"  Duncan glanced at the closed bathroom door, where Richie was changing. "Not to live. Just for a few weeks. Like a vacation."

"Oh well, that's alright then," Methos scoffed. "For God's sake, Macleod. don't you remember why we left? He's nineteen going on twenty five People are going to notice he's not aging."

"So, we'll keep him away from the old neighbourhoods." Duncan assured him.

"That should leave you with about four or five blocks over on the South side of the city." Methos said wryly.

"Oh come on. Even Rich didn't move around that much."

"Exactly," Methos seized on that. "There's a whole world out there that he has never even seen yet. What he needs to see some of that. Take him to see the Pyramids. The Great Wall of China. Take him to Scotland and show him why you are so bloody stubborn if you must. Not Seacouver."

"Look, you don't have to come." Duncan allowed. "But .."

"No. Do you need me to say it in Gaelic?" Methos queried. "I thought your English was becoming quite fluent now."

"But .."

"But nothing, Macleod," Methos snapped. "Did you or did you not agree that Richie was my student now?"

Duncan's eyes went hard and flat. For a moment, Methos thought his only answer might be being knocked flat on his bum. Again. 

"Yes, he's your student." Duncan agreed, finally. "But ..."

"And you gave me your word that you would not interfere." Methos reminded him.

Duncan clenched his jaw. "I know."

"So, Richie's welfare is my responsibility now?" 

"You are his Teacher .." Duncan agreed.

Whatever else he might have said was cut off by the sound of the bathroom door opening. Richie looked from one to the other.

"So, I guess, I won't need to pack my Seacouver Sonics shirt, huh?"

"Richie," Duncan began.

"So, where are we going?" Richie looked at Methos.

"I was thinking ..Tibet." Methos shrugged.

"Tibet?" Duncan sputtered.

"Its nice and quiet and the sunshine will do him good."

"It's the other side of the world." Duncan protested.

"We won't be gone that long," Methos assured him. "Not more than a couple of decades."

"Decades?" Duncan's jaw dropped.

"Of course, we'll probably be out of touch for most of that time, some of the places are pretty remote."

"Have you told Amanda about this?" Duncan played his trump card.

"Amanda?" Richie echoed.

"Actually," Methos smirked. "It seems she had a little trouble with the authorities when she was in Boston. What is the statute of limitations for burglary?"

"Methos," Duncan hissed. "You can't just .. take off like this."

"Oh?" Methos raised a brow. "Give me one good reason why not?"


	13. Realisations

"If Richie wants to go to Tibet, then that's his decision." Duncan was rather proud of the way he managed to keep the hurt out of his voice.

"Sure," Richie said flatly. "I mean, they have girls there, right?"

Duncan opened his mouth to tease Richie about the fact that they also had monasteries and serve him right if he had to spend all his time in one of those. When it dawned on him that Richie had just agreed to go.

"You do know where Tibet is, right?" he asked.

"Yeah." Richie didn't look all that sure.

"And what about School?" Duncan demanded.

"School?" Richie repeated, in much the same tone as he'd used to enquire about Amanda. "You're worried about me missing School?"

"Yeah, School," Duncan insisted. "I thought that was important to you?"

"Things change."

Duncan looked up sharply at his hollow tone. The lad looked decidedly fragile. Like a warm bed and a bowl of broth would do him a power of good.

"Are you feeling OK?" he asked gently.

"Any reason why I shouldn't be?" Richie challenged.

"Yes. Several." Duncan reminded him wryly.

"I'm fine." Richie muttered, looking away.

Duncan sighed at the obvious lie. But Richie clearly wasn't twelve any more. He wouldn't thank him, for fussing over him in front of Methos. Even so.

"Look at him. You really think he's well enough to travel?" He asked Methos, switching to Gaelic.

"I wasn't planning on making him walk there." Methos pointed out in the same language.

"You hate flying," Duncan groused. "He'd feel better after a few days in his own bed."

"That's why I always travel first class. The kid will be pampered within an inch of his life. If that doesn't make him feel better I don't know what will."

"I'd feel better if you two would stop talking about me as if I wasn't here." Richie protested.

"We're not .." Duncan began. Before he realised that Richie had spoken in flawless Gaelic. "Since when do you speak Gaelic?"

"Since Connor," Richie shrugged. "Can we go now?"

"Did you tell him about the child's parents wanting to talk to him?" Methos asked.

"What!" Richie looked anxious.

"I was going to break it to him gently." Duncan scowled.

"No. No way," Richie shook his head. "I don't want to talk to any parents. I mean. I'm glad the kid's OK and all. But can't we just leave it at that?"

"So, I suppose that means you don't want to talk to the Press conference either?" Methos raised a brow.

"Press conference!"

"Yeah, you're a veritable media celebrity. After all, you _almost died .. Lazarus."_

"I thought you said almost doesn't count?" Richie said snidely.

"You want to tell me what you were thinking?" Methos asked quietly.

"I wasn't thinking, alright? I just heard the little boy crying and I knew I had to get him out of there. And I did."

"Well. You were lucky. This time. They just think you had a close call and a ruined jacket. Be glad there weren't any TV cameras." Methos reproved.

"If there were, I would still have done the same thing." Richie vowed quietly.

"Yes," Methos sighed. "You probably would. But next time, would it kill you to at least, pretend, to take some breathing apparatus, with you?"

"Oh." Richie flushed. "I never thought of that."

"Of course not," Methos sighed. "Come on. Let's get you out of here." 

"How are you going to do that?" Richie worried. "I mean, what if someone recognises me?"

"They won't, if they don't see your face." Methos looked smug.

"You wouldn't," Richie backed up. "Methos, you are not putting me in a body bag."

***

"Tell me he didn't." Connor chuckled.

"Of course not," Duncan shook his head. "We just snuck him out the back way. We've done it often enough with new Immortals. At least, Richie was dressed."

"So," Connor handed Duncan his drink. "What about Tibet?"

"What about it? Rich could learn a lot in Tibet," Duncan said woodenly, reaching up to accept the glass. "It'll be good for him."

"Meditation? Richie?" Connor shook his head.

"You don't think he should go?" Duncan looked up hopefully.

"Did you try to talk to him?"

"Yes, I tried to talk to him." Duncan scowled.

"And?"

"He said Richie was his student now and I shouldn't interfere."

"Not Methos," Connor frowned. "Richie. Did you even ask him if he really wanted to go to Tibet?"

"Richie's a big boy now," Duncan shook his head. "He made his feelings quite clear. If he didn't want to go, he would have said so."

"Would he?" Connor enquired.

"Of course.." Duncan looked up. "Why not?"

"What are his alternatives?"

"He could stay here with me."

Connor surveyed his former student with a sigh. He was really very fond of him. But he could be rather dense, sometimes.

"How much time have you spent with Richie recently?"

What are you talking about?" Duncan frowned. "I see him almost every day."

"When did you last spar with him?"

"Its been ..a while.." Duncan shrugged. "He spars with Methos."

"And me," Connor told him. "And Amanda."

"Amanda's been teaching him?" Duncan blinked. "I didn't know that. What has Amanda been teaching him?"

"Maybe if you sparred with him, you'd find out."

"Between you and Methos and Amanda, I'd probably have to challenge him to find a free spot in his schedule." Duncan muttered sourly.

"A mite jealous are you?" Connor asked astutely.

"No." Duncan denied, with something that came dangerously close to a pout. "I wanted Richie to have new friends, new experiences."

"How long has it been since you went out anywhere with him?"

"The night before I left for France?" Duncan reminded him. "We went to a movie and that restaurant in town. You were there."

"And so was Methos, and Amanda," Connor acknowledged. "When did you last go out, just the two of you? Just sit and talk? Or teach him a new skill?"

 "I know," Duncan admitted. "But its not like he's been lacking in new experiences. Methos has taken him, Rock climbing. Parachuting. Scuba diving. And just the other week Rich e-mailed me to give me a blow by blow account of how he taught him to water-ski."

"Doesn't that tell you something?" Connor asked.

"Yeah, he doesn't need me." Duncan scrubbed at his face, unwilling to admit, even to Connor, how much that hurt.

"Duncan, you're not thinking straight. When you where Richie's age, and you had done something you were proud of, who was the first person you wanted to tell?"

"My father," Duncan realised. "Oh .."

***

Duncan picked up the picture of him and Richie that stood on the desk in Connor's den. He wasn't even sure when, or who, had taken it. He and Richie were sitting on the couch in the loft, surrounded by Chinese takeout and empty beer bottles. He was throwing Richie a fond look, as he laughed at something the young man had said, and Richie was glancing back across at him, amusement and affection written all over his features.

"Is this a private pity party or can anyone join in?" Methos voice came from behind him.

Duncan carefully set the photo back down on the desk and turned to face him.

"You know, I thought you were supposed to be Richie's teacher." He observed.

Something akin to satisfaction flashed through Methos' eyes, before it was replaced with an insufferably smug smile.

"So, you've worked it out then?"

"If you mean what a fool I've been, then yes. Although, I can't take all the credit. Connor helped."

"About bloody time," Methos groused. "For a minute there, I thought I was actually going to have to go to Tibet." He shuddered. "Their idea of beer leaves a lot to be desired. I swear they mix it with Yak's milk."

"You couldn't just have told me that I was acting like an idiot and Richie was feeling abandoned?"

"Well, I thought about it," Methos admitted. "But you were so busy feeling sorry for yourself that your chick had flown the nest that I didn't think you'd listen to me."

"I would have listened to Richie." Duncan grumbled.

"Try and see it from his point of view. You're not his employer any more. You're no longer his teacher. And much as he might want one, he thinks he's too old to need a father. What's he going to say to you? You gave me this great start in life and to show you just how grateful I am I want to monopolise even more of your time and attention?"

"Things were much easier when he was twelve." Duncan gave a lop sided smile.

"You have a short memory." Methos laughed. "I don't think Joe and Connor would agree."

"He remembers that?" Duncan's lips quirked. "Connor might need to watch his back."

"I think Joe is already packing."

"You coped surprisingly well." Duncan commented.

"Twelve. Twenty something. Is there really so much difference? You're still the same people."

"I guess so," Duncan rubbed at his face. "I need to talk to him."

"Somebody does," Methos agreed. "Take a look at this."

Duncan looked down at the news report of Angela Greaves miraculous rescue from a blazing store. "So? It says here, her rescuer wished to remain anonymous. That's what we wanted isn't it?"

"Remember when Richie talked about the child?"

"He thought it was a boy. It's an easy enough mistake. At that age the differences between boys and girls aren't always that obvious."

"Have you even looked at the photo?" Methos demanded.

The little girl had long blonde braids, she was dressed in a slightly sooty and torn Barbie pink dress, with pink tights and silver ballerina style shoes. In her right hand she had a death grip on a rag doll.

"Not much to mistake there." Methos murmured.

"No," Duncan agreed. He had a very bad feeling about this.


	14. Resolutions

AN – Thank you to all the lovely people who are have taken the trouble to review. Its always great to know what you think – this is almost done now, one maybe two more chapters after this. 

***

"Would it have been so difficult to have just said something?" Richie crossed his arms and stared down at Methos, who was sprawled on the bed, sipping at his beer.

"You're blowing this out of all proportion." Methos tried to inject a voice of reason.

"You think so?" Richie raised a brow. "Then you tell me how to fix this."

Methos sighed and craned his neck to peer at Richie's hair critically.

"Its only burnt in places."

"I have bald bits!"

"It'll grow."

"How long?" Richie demanded.

"How long do you want it to be?"

"You're being deliberately obtuse, aren't you?"

"You're leaning." Methos toasted him with his beer.

Richie regarded him silently.

"I can hear what you're thinking." Methos smirked.

"Good."

"Well," Methos swung his feet around. "My work here is done."

"Hey. You are _not_ leaving. We gotta do something." Richie turned back to look in the mirror. "I can't go out like this."

Methos decided to forbear from mentioning that he already had. "Have you got any scissors?" 

"Scissors? That's your solution? Make it even shorter than it already is?"

"Look on the bright side. It will probably make you look older."

"You think?" Richie brightened slightly. "I can live with that."

"Go on then." Methos encouraged.

"What?"

"Fetch the scissors."

"Oh no," Richie put both of his hands protectively over his head. "If you think I'm letting you within ten feet of me with a pair of scissors. .. No way ..."

"Want me to do it?" Duncan offered quietly, from the doorway.

"Would you mind?" Richie asked hesitantly.

"Course not." Duncan smiled. "Its not like I haven't done it before."

***

_As he arrived back at the Store Richie dropped his backpack onto the floor, already veering towards the kitchen and his ultimate objective. He'd been playing basketball all afternoon and he was way too hungry to wait the two hours until dinner._

_"What does Madam desire?" Duncan's voice, with an even odder than usual accent came from the kitchen._

_"I am in your hands," Tessa giggled. "Do with me as you will."_

_Richie__ stopped dead. It wouldn't be the first time that he had come home and disturbed the couple when they were .. involved. He had never ever actually caught them in the act, but the flushed expressions and the hasty re-arranging of clothes told their own story, and came way too close for his liking. He'd always thought maybe, one day, he wouldn't be so lucky._

_Maybe, today was that day._

_His stomach growled, loudly. Reminding him of his mission._

_"Surely, they wouldn't?" Richie told himself. "Not in the kitchen. Its unsanitary." Buoyed by this he took a few more steps.._

_Still. You never knew with those two._

_Resigning himself to near starvation Richie turned to trudge towards his room._

_"Rich? __Duncan__'s voice stopped him. "That you?"_

_"Um.__ Yeah." Richie called back. "I .. um .. I'm just gonna take a shower. Um. A really long shower."_

_"Could you just come in here for a minute first please?," __Duncan__ asked. "I need a hand here."_

_"Er .. I'm really dirty," Richie hedged. "I smell."_

_"We will hold our noses." Tessa spoke._

_"Oh man." Richie groaned, as he edged into the kitchen, not at all sure what he expected to see._

_Whatever it was, it wasn't this._

_+++_

_"Why is it so hard to believe?" __Duncan__ asked, as he worked. "In four hundred years you'd expect to pick up some skills."_

_"But hairdressing?"__ Richie threw up his hands._

_"This would go more quickly, if you would hold the mirror still," Tessa suggested. "Then you may make your raid on the refrigerator."_

_"I never said I was hungry." Richie was faintly worried. Some of his foster parents had had strong opinions on taking food from the refrigerator between meals. Eating them out of house and home one couple had complained. No better than stealing according to another._

_But Mac laughed. "No, ,but  your stomach did, I can here it growling from here."_

_"Oh, sorry."__ Richie grinned, because it seemed like they didn't mind._

_"You haven't answered the question." __Duncan__ prompted._

_"I guess, I just assumed Tess went to one of those fancy places in the mall, with the big glass windows, so that everyone can see what a big shot are to be able to afford to go there. I mean she always looks so hot."_

_Richie__ blushed when he realised what he had said, but Tessa just smiled._

_"You like my hair?" She tossed it lightly._

_"Yeah.__ It looks great, Tessa." He said sincerely._

_"Then perhaps you would like __Duncan__ to cut your hair also?" She asked innocently._

_***_

"It was a trick," Richie protested, good humouredly. "She knew I was never going to say that she looked anything but beautiful."

"She had been itching for an excuse to make you look more .."

"Respectable?" Richie suggested, without rancour.

"Handsome," Duncan corrected. "It was one of the happiest days in her life when she first saw you all dressed up in that tux, she said you looked like a movie star."

"I looked like a penguin." Richie remembered fondly.

"You looked fine," Duncan corrected. "You just walked like a penguin."

"Funny Mac."

"OK, I'm done," Duncan dusted the last pieces of hair off his shoulders. "What do you think?"

Richie looked at himself in the mirror. His hair was quite a bit shorter. But Methos was right. It did make him look older. And the burnt patches were barely noticeable.

"You know, this is pretty good, Mac," Richie was pleased. "You should take this up professionally."

"I think I did once .. " Duncan grinned tightly at Richie's shocked expression. "No. This service is strictly family only."

Richie's reaction was nothing like what he had hoped for. The lad looked away sharply.

"Well, thanks anyway." He responded woodenly.

"Look, Rich .." Duncan tried to apologise for his recent behaviour..

"I should probably go see what Methos is up to," Richie cut him off.

"Richie," Duncan pressed on regardless. "I don't blame you for being mad at me."

"Mad? I'm not mad."

"So, you agreed to travel halfway around the world, to a place you had never hard of because you're not mad?"

"I wasn't mad .." Richie hedged. "I was embarrassed."

"Embarrassed?"

"Mac, I was twelve!" Richie protested. "Its .. its humiliating!"

"Why?" Duncan asked, genuinely confused.

"Oh please," Richie rolled his eyes. "Joe sent me to bed early. Connor .. I'm gonna kill Connor .. even Methos read me a bed time story .. and you … you .." he stopped and ran a hand through his hair, biting his lip hard.

"What?" Duncan asked, concerned now. He couldn't remember anything he had done that would cause the lad this much distress.

"You didn't even blink," Richie's voice faltered. "I mean, for all you knew, I might have been twelve for the rest of my life and you just .. you were my Dad."

"Richie . we've talked about this .."

"Yeah, right and how many times have we played snakes and ladders before?"

"I didn't know you like it so much," Duncan shrugged. "Now I do."

"And  then .. I had a nightmare .. and you ... I sat in your lap. Like I was real small." Riche's voice cracked.

"Did it help? At the time?" Duncan asked neutrally. "Did it make you feel better?"

"Well, yeah .. " Richie sniffed.

"Good," Duncan said simply, slipping his arm around Richie's shoulders. "Then I did my job."

"Huh?"

"Rich, whether you are twelve, or two hundred, my role is to give you what you need at the time. Those needs might change but it doesn't matter to me how old, or young, you are, that will always be my job. Understand?"

"I guess," Richie gave him a lop sided smile. "So, why have you been acting like such a jerk, recently then?"

"Because, I was jealous. I saw you growing up and I was afraid that you would grow away from me. That I would loose you." Duncan admitted with rare candour.

"Mac," Richie swallowed hard. "Never gonna happen."

"Never?" Duncan gave him a slight smile. "Are you sure? That could turn out to be a pretty long time?"

"Or, it could be a real short one," Richie told him, with a frankness and maturity that made Duncan's heart glow. "And, I'm not going to waste one second of it by worrying about stupid stuff, like whether I'm too old to need you or not. Because the truth is, I do .. Dad."

Not trusting himself to speak, Duncan brought his other arm up around Richie and hugged him close. "You don't know how long it is I've wished to hear you say that." He managed. He wondered how Richie would react if he slid him into his lap.

Richie's voice came out muffled against his shoulder. "Don't even think about it .."

Duncan laughed.

***

"How is he?" Methos put aside the book he had been pretending to read and gave Duncan his full attention.

"Asleep." Duncan poured himself a drink and sank onto the couch.

Methos waited. But nothing more was forthcoming.

_"Macleod."_

Duncan gave him a reasonably truthful version of events. He didn't mind coming off like an ass for the ancient Immortal's amusement, but he'd save the lad the embarrassment if he could. 

"You're both bloody idiots, must be genetic." Methos scoffed. "Did you ask him about the fire?"

Duncan scrubbed tiredly at his face. "Not yet. Won't it keep till the morning? I'm really not up to dealing with more than one crisis at a time, right now."

"Oh," Methos looked pained. "Then I supposed this isn't a good time to tell you that we are out of beer?"


	15. Revelations

Wow, thanks for all the reviews. So very glad you like it. One more chapter after this.

***

Duncan was out of bed and halfway up the stairs before he even realised what had woken him.

Richie's scream.

Methos met him on the landing, hastily pulling a sweat shirt over his head against the night chill.

"Amanda's with him," he explained quickly. "He's .. a little disorientated right now."

"Took a swing at you, did he?" Duncan surmised.

"No," Methos scowled. "He bit me."

"Ah," Duncan's face twisted sympathetically. "After a time or two, I realised that Tessa had the surer touch, for bringing him out of a really bad nightmare."

"And you couldn't have told me that before?" Methos grumbled.

"I had to work it out for myself," Duncan shrugged. "I didn't want to spoil the surprise."

"He was dreaming about the fire."

"I thought as much," Duncan sighed. "Looks like it couldn't wait until morning, after all."

"Apparently not," Methos agreed. "Are you planning on using that?"

Duncan looked down in surprise at the Katana in his right hand. "Force of habit." he muttered, laying the sword down 

At the buzz of an Immortal, they both turned to see Connor approaching, tying the belt on his black silk robe, with Joe following anxiously on his heels. "I take it the lad had another nightmare?"

"Aye." Duncan agreed.

"Then why are we standing out here?" Joe wondered.

"We were waiting for Connor to go in and wake him," Methos smirked.

"Humpf," Connor snorted. "I'm going back to bed. The lad's not a sideshow. He'll not welcome an audience."

"I'm sure you guys can handle this." Joe agreed.

Left alone outside Richie's door, Methos and Duncan looked at each other.

"Want to draw straws?" Duncan asked.

"For who goes back to bed?" Methos suggested.

"For who talks to Richie." Duncan rolled his eyes.

"I don't think he's going to be up to doing a Kata, right now," Methos scoffed. "I'm his Teacher, not his nursemaid."

"This from the person who was reading him the Jungle Book, the other night." Duncan grinned. "With voices."

"That is a great work of literature," Methos said loftily. "You can't possibly read it without voices."

***

Duncan collected what he needed and without knocking pushed the door fully open. Amanda was sitting on the bed, talking softly, Richie sat up against the headboard, with the covers splayed around him in disarray. They both looked up as Duncan entered.

"Did you lose the draw?" Richie enquired, with a soft smile.

"You heard that, huh?" Duncan wasn't fazed. "Naw, Methos went off to find the straws .."

"And never came back?" Amanda suggested mischievously.

"Noo," Duncan rolled his eyes at her. "I skipped the line and ducked in here when he wasn't looking."

"Well," Amanda leaned over and kissed Richie's cheek. "I'll leave you boys to talk."

Duncan waited until she had brushed past him before settling his gaze on Richie. "Well, looks like you're stuck with me."

"Who's your friend?" Richie raised a brow at the bottle of whiskey in Duncan's right hand.

"A very old, and dear, friend," Duncan eyed the bottle lovingly, before pouring a generous measure into one of the two glasses in his left hand and offering it to Richie.

"Uh. I dunno," Richie demurred. "My stomach's kinda queasy, you old friend might just make a return visit. You know?"

"Take small sips," Duncan instructed quietly. "It'll help."

Richie obediently sipped, and coughed appreciatively. "Wow" 

"Good, isn't it?" Duncan smiled, as he savoured his own glass.

"You couldn't have given me some of this before?"

"You were twelve."

"No, I wasn't. I just thought I was," Richie pointed out. "Methos gave me a beer."

"Figures." Duncan chuckled. He shot a sideways glance at Richie. "You know, I burnt to death once .." Duncan said softly. "Not one of my favourite memories but .."

Richie bit his lip. "I didn't burnt to death. At least, not really. The explosion was pretty close. It knocked me flying. I don't remember anything after that till I woke up again."

"You think you hit your head?"

"Maybe," Richie didn't much care. Dead was dead. "So, anyway, when I woke up, I figured I'd better grab the little boy and make tracks before anything else could go wrong. So I did."

"Girl." Duncan said quietly.

"Huh?"

"It was a little girl." 

"Yeah. That's what I said." Richie frowned at him.

***

"Maac," Richie slurred. They were more than half way down the bottle of Scotch and the lack of decent food and rest in recent weeks, not to mention the repeated resurrections, were beginning to take their toll on the lad. "What are you doing with that?"

"I'm putting it on the bed," Duncan fussed with the comforter, making sure it was arranged just right. He was still pretty sober.

"You're putting it all on the wrong side of the bed." Richie complained.

"I'm putting it on my side of the bed," Duncan corrected. "Because you always hog the covers."

"Do not." Richie scooted down further under the bedclothes, drawing then close around him with a tug.

"Course you don't." Duncan muttered fondly, pulling back the covers and slipping in beside the lad.

Richie blinked fuzzily at him.

"You're in my bed." He observed.

"That I am." Duncan agreed.

"Oh," Richie considered that. "OK."

Duncan bit back a grin at the easy acceptance. Usually he had to fight his corner to get Richie to accept anything that might remotely be construed as cosseting.

"Did you know that the only part of your body that survives being cremated is these little bones in your ears?" Richie surprised him.

"How do you know that?" 

"One of the other kids told me. At the Hospital."

"One of the other kids?" Duncan was confused.

"Yeah. I think, they were just trying to scare me though. That's not true, right?"

"Well. Actually." Duncan made a face.

"Oh," Richie said woodenly. "Still, At least this time I knew I couldn't die."

Duncan went very still.

"This time?"

***  
"I was twelve," Richie recalled, taking strengthen from Duncan's comforting hand rubbing the back of his neck. "I don't even remember what it was that I did wrong. But he took me by the arm and he marched me to my room and told me I couldn't come out until I learnt to be good."

"And you just stayed put?" Duncan asked sceptically. The Richie Ryan he knew was too slick an escape artist to stay confined for long.

"I had to. The first time I ran away he'd put a bolt on the outside of the door. The windows had been painted over so many times you couldn't have shifted them with a crow bar. Even if I had broken them, we were on the fifth floor and the fire escape was pretty much coming away from the walls there was so much subsidence in the building."

"How long did he leave you there?"

"Long enough for me to get hungry." Richie gave him a quick grin.

"So, at least twenty minutes." Duncan teased, playing along.

"And to hate that damn wallpaper." Richie said more bitterly.

"The one with the swirls?"

"Yeah," Richie sighed. "And then I needed to go the bathroom, real bad. So I banged on the door and hollered. But he just yelled that I should shut up, or else. He sounded pretty drunk."

"What happened?" Duncan kept his tone level. No sense in taking his anger out on the lad.

"They said .." Richie swallowed. "He was smoking. That he must have passed out or something. They said he didn't suffer. That the smoke killed him."

Duncan tried to feel something for the man. But he was far more concerned about Richie.

"How long before you realised there was a fire?" 

"I wasn't sure at first. He was always burning pizzas and stuff. . Then it started to get really hot. I stuffed some clothes and things at the bottom of the door, I'd seen that in a movie once, and I tried to get out of the window,  .. I banged and yelled and cried .. but I couldn't make anyone hear me."

Duncan slipped his arm around him. He couldn't imagine how frightening that must have been for a child.

"So, what did you do?" 

"I used my chair to break down the door. I figure the heat had buckled it or something because when I tried to get out through the apartment,  the fire was pretty bad by then and all the furniture and stuff were burning, and the smoke was so thick. And then I couldn't do it anymore and I knew I was gonna die." 

"Oh Rich .." Duncan sympathised.

"I guess I passed out, because when I woke up .. I was in the Hospital. The Fire crews broke down the door or something. I mean, my life wasn't so great and I knew I'd be with my Mom .. with Emily .. but I wished .. I really wished I'd had the chance to meet my Dad ..." Richie managed a brief smile. "But I was scared. Really scared, you know?"  He rubbed tiredly at his face. "I guess that's why I still have these crappy nightmares."

"Maybe they'll stop now."

"You think?" Richie didn't sound too sure.

"Talking about things is always the first step," Duncan reminded him. "And in saving that little girl you've done a lot to lay your own demons to rest. You faced your fear and you survived."

"Well, duh. Hands up everyone who is Immortal."

Duncan shook his head. "Rich, you know as well as anyone, survival isn't just about staying alive, its about hope and joy and faith and love and all those qualities we have to keep unless we are going to feel dead inside. No matter how bad things have been you've always had that."

"I guess," Richie brightened. "Afterwards, my throat was so sore all I could eat for the next week was ice-cream."

"No wonder you almost died." Duncan scoffed lightly.

"Funny Mac." Richie yawned so widely he almost dislocated his jaw.

"Go to sleep Rich," Duncan ordered fondly. "I'll keep watch."

"Kay," Richie settled more comfortably on Duncan's shoulder. "Gotta get my rest. I have big plans for tomorrow."

"Oh?" Duncan shifted him slightly so he could lay down more fully in the bed.

"Told you earlier," Richie said drowsily. "I'm gonna kill Connor."

"You can try," Duncan chuckled. "It took me almost a century to best him and that was close on 300 years ago. And," he bent his head to whisper conspiratorially in Richie's ear. "I hear he's been practising."

"Not gonna help." Richie murmured.

"Richie," Duncan asked warily. "What are you thinking?"


	16. Finale

AN - Thank you all so much for reading and all the email comments and reviews. Please let me know what you think of the ending! For those of you that have asked, the traumas of Real Life, interrupted my plans for the sequel to the Quickening – (my answer to the Gathering, where Richie gets to save the Universe) - but the story has not been abandoned, and some aspects of this story are relevant to that plot! It will be called "A Place Out of Time" and it will be coming to a Computer near you as soon. And ALL my other stories (including Rite of Passage) will be completed as quickly as I can get to them. Thanks for reading!

***

The next morning, Duncan watched Richie out of the corner of his eye as the lad worked with the quarter staff. Richie executed the moves perfectly, but it was obvious that something was bothering the lad. 

"Want to talk about it?" he offered gently.

"Can I ask you something?" Richie paused and reached over for a towel to wipe his face.

"No and Yes." Duncan told him with a smile..

"Mac, have you been putting those weird dried mushroom things in your Omelettes again?

"It's the answers to your questions," Duncan smiled. "No, .. I don't think you're a kid"

Richie gave him a lop sided smile. "You think you know me pretty well, huh?"

"Am I wrong?"

"No," Richie sighed. "Why didn't I, at least, have the sense to stay alive until I looked old enough to not get carded in a bar? Its bad enough people who don't know me, think I'm actually nineteen, but to have people like Connor and Joe treat me like I'm still practically in diapers, its embarrassing."

"You were twelve, at the time." Duncan tried to excuse his friends.

"Oh, and if it had been anyone other than me in that position, do you think Connor would have spanked Methos? Or Joe sent you to bed?"

Duncan gave Richie a sympathetic look. He was right, of course. "Connor hasn't quite thrown off, the old ways, when a youngster could be expected to obey his elders and betters without question."

"I know," Richie managed a wry smile. "I've seen the way he bosses you around."

"You should have seen him when I was still his student," Duncan made a rueful face. "If he thought I was loosing concentration it was a swat across the rear from his broadsword, to focus my attention. And I was a man grown." He shrugged. "Or at least, I thought so. I changed his mind eventually."

"Fine," Richie scrubbed at his face. "So, all I have to do is wait a few centuries and Connor will see me as an equal?"

"I didn't say Connor changed his mind," Duncan pointed out. "I said, I changed it for him."

"You killed him." Richie bit his lip.

"And .. Yes, You are good enough." Duncan smiled at him.

"That was going to be my next question," Richie nodded with a rueful smile. He paused. "You really think I can take Connor?"

"No. I know, you can," Duncan reached for his Katana. "With a little help from your friends."

***

"You know," Richie shifted nervously. "Maybe this wasn't such a good idea."

"You'll be fine," Methos soothed. "You've already killed Duncan, here, four times before breakfast."

"And he's better than Connor." Amanda put in.

"And it only took him almost two centuries to get that way," Richie hissed. "I've only had two hours to learn this move."

"Yeah, but you're better than me." Duncan shrugged.

Richie gave him an odd look. "You're funning me, right?"

"Nope."

"Mac, no way I am better than you."

"You're young yet," Duncan allowed. "And there are a few things that can only be taught by experience. But you're by far a better swordsman than I was at your age."

"You mean that?" Richie blushed softly under the warm praise.

"With all my heart," Duncan assured him. "Just make sure it's a clean strike. Connor will be upset if you get too much blood on his floor. He just had it re-laid."

"Right," Richie grinned. "No blood."

"Come on then lad," Connor invited, striding to the middle of the floor and holding his sword at the ready. "Since both your teachers are apparently too lazy to spar with you today," He gave Duncan and Methos a disapproving look. "Let's have at it."

Duncan had to admit to a sense of pride. Not a trace of nerves, or a quiver of anxiety, betrayed Richie's intentions as he walked over to square up tom the elder Immortal. It could just have been an ordinary sparring session, just like the ones they had done so many times before.

Except, it has to be said, for the expressions of anticipation on the faces of the three watching Immortals.

"Alright," Joe demanded. "What exactly is going one here?"

Methos smiled. A rare, warm, entirely genuine, smile. "Joseph, how would you like to make a little wager?"

***

Connor advanced with Richie defending, as the pair danced across the room, the sound of swords clashing echoing in the high ceiling room, as they negotiated the various obstacles.

"I taught him that move." Duncan looked proud. "See, how well he met the blade?"

"His footwork is much better." Amanda observed.

"Salsa dancing." Methos looked smug.

Suddenly, it looked as if Richie was in trouble, as Connor successfully manoeuvred to back him up the staircase, but just as the Highlander's blade flashed down and Joe was already mentally counting his winnings, Richie launched himself over Connor's head in a perfect somersault, to land lightly behind him, sword at the ready.

 "I never taught him to do that." Duncan frowned.

"Me either." Methos added.

"Oh that was me," Amanda put in airily. "You know, he really is quite amazingly flexible. You wouldn't believe the positions he can .."

Duncan and Methos turned to her as one. "Amanda .."

"What?" She demanded innocently. "Oh tush, I never touched him. Although, he does look great in spandex." She smiled appreciatively. "You can see all those lovely muscles of his."

"She's winding you up," Duncan told Methos. "Richie would never wear spandex."

"Really?" Methos replied. "I thought she was winding you up."

"Oh man, that was close!" Joe suddenly exclaimed. "Connor, nearly sliced through Richie's tendon."

"Nearly, doesn't count." Duncan swung his attention back to the fight.

Connor feinted left, but moved right, cutting Richie deeply on the thigh, Duncan winced sympathetically at the lad's hiss of pain, as he sank onto one knee.

"Aw, oh well," Joe looked philosophical. "He tried. That's a months bar work you owe me, old man."

"Wait." Methos ordered.

At the exact same second that Connor pulled back his arm, to thrust the blade between Richie's ribs and deep into his heart, Richie twisted left, so that the Katana met empty air, throwing Connor off balance. In that instant, Richie thrust upward through Connor's stomach, with such power and force that the point of the blade came out the other side

 "What the hell?" Joe's jaw dropped.

Connor died, with a very surprised expression on his face.

***

"It's a fix," Joe grumbled, as he signed off on the IOU that set aside Methos' current bar tab. "You never said you had helped him."

"Joe, do you have any idea how much skill it takes to _execute a move like that?" Methos pointed out._

"Yeah, and Richie, _dispatched it perfectly." Duncan smirked.._

"You could say he _finished it off_ with style." Amanda added.

"Alright," Connor grumbled, peering at his almost healed stomach. "So, the lad killed me. What can I say?"

"That you let your guard down?" Joe shrugged.

Connor turned to him in surprise. "Joseph, I would never let my guard down, not even in practise. Those swords are dammedable sharp. And I just got the floor re-laid. Risteared beat me fair and square."

"So, he really killed you?" Joe asked, dumbfounded. "But he couldn't …"

"Except that he did," Amanda, pointed out. "Very smoothly, too, actually."

"He certainly knows how to make a point." Methos grinned.

"How many times is that he's killed you now, kinsman?" Duncan asked. "Twice, isn't it?"

"Yes, _alright_," Connor said huffily. "And that first time doesn't count, it was an accident, not a challenge."

"But he's just a kid." Joe shook his head.

It was Connor who answered. "He's older than you were Joseph, when you went to fight in Vietnam and he's survived the Game these last few years by his wit and his courage. I think, sometimes we forget that."

"Aw, c'mon" Joe protested. "Its hard, not to see him as a kid. I mean, he's young enough to be my Grandson."

"And you're young enough to be mine," Duncan reminded him. "But I don't have any problem according you the respect due to a friend."

"I guess, I never thought of it like that." Joe blushed.

"So, you'll both make your peace with him?" Duncan pressed.

"A mite aggrieved is he?" Connor smiled. "Never mind, I think I know how I can make it up to him."

"I wish I did." Joe sighed.

***

"Mac said you wanted to talk to me."

The reluctant in Richie's tone made it clear that seeking out Connor hadn't been his idea. Connor blessed his stars that Duncan still had some influence over him. With Richie sometimes telling him how things were fell short of the mark. It was far better to be able to show him.

"Pass me that vase will you?" Connor said mildly, nodding at the sideboard.

As he complied, Richie surveyed the dining room table set with the best china, and crystal, and antique silver with awe and a certain amount of trepidation. 

"Who's coming to dinner?" 

"A very special guest." Connor told him.

"Oh." Richie was disappointed. He'd hoped to spend some time with just his family tonight. Then he counted the place settings.

"You want I should go and grab a burger or something?" he asked flatly.

"What?" Connor looked up in surprise. "Why ever would I want that?"

"There are only six places," Richie shrugged. "I figured you guys might wanna talk about old, old, times?"

"Without the bairn around?" Connor carried on setting the table. "Or, did you just think I would be mad enough at you for besting me to send you to bed without your supper?"

"That's Joe's job." Richie muttered sourly.

"Risteared," Connor turned to face him, putting a hand on each shoulder and looking him straight in the eyes. "You are the special guest."

"I am?" Richie blinked. "Its not like its my birthday or anything."

"It is the custom of the Clan, to celebrate the success of its warriors in battle with a feasting and a tribute."

"Oh." Richie looked pleased. Then frowned. "Tribute? You mean like Elvis?"

Connor ignored that.

"I owe you an apology."

"I thought I was the one who killed you." Richie looked a little awkward.

"Aye," Connor agreed. "And a dammed fine job you did of it too. I'm proud of you."

Connor grasped his arm by the elbow, in a warriors grip, as Richie had seen him do with Duncan. Slightly awed Richie returned the gesture.

"Well done kinsman," Connor allowed. "Well done indeed."

***  
"Hey Rich, can I have a word?" Joe hovered uncertainly in the doorway to the den, where Duncan and Richie were playing chess.

"I'll go .." Duncan started to stand up. "Let you two talk."

"No, Mac, stay," Joe insisted, "I embarrassed Richie in front of his friends. Its only fair that I apologise in front of them as well. I'm really sorry Rich."

Richie looked up.

"What are you sorry for Joe?" he asked with a level look.

"Aw, c'mon Rich. I know, I shouldn't have treated you like that. You're not a kid and I'm sorry, alright?"

"But, if I had been a kid? It would have been OK to treat me like that?" Richie surged to his feet and strode over to look out the window.

Joe floundered and looked to Duncan for some help.

"He has a point." Duncan murmured.

"Oh, come on, Mac. A little help here?" 

"Joe. You've read Richie's foster records. You should know as well as anyone where he's coming from with this. A child raised like that, is bound to feel a little powerless in the face of adult authority."

"I sent him to his room because I didn't know how to answer his questions. Its hardly the crime of the Century."

"His drunken foster father sent him to him room because he couldn't be bothered with him and he nearly died." 

"Its not the same." Joe stuttered. "I didn't mean .."

"No," Richie turned around from the window, and came back over towards the couch. "You're right, it isn't." He ran a hand through his hair. "I'm sorry, myself Joe. Its been a rough week."

"Maybe, this will make you feel better." Joe pulled a printout from his jacket pocket.

Richie read through the Watcher's report, a pleased smile spreading across his face. Duncan, reading over his shoulder, glanced approvingly at Joe.

"Thanks Joe," Richie smiled shyly. "This is pretty cool. I sound like Mac or something."

"No more than you deserve, kid." Joe winced. "I mean .."

"Leaving out the bit about him being twelve was a nice touch," Duncan complimented him, quickly changing the subject.

"Yeah, well, he's a good kid." Joe caught himself. "Oh hell!.."

Duncan caught Richie's eye and they both burst out laughing.

"You know, you really should work on that."

***

Richie pushed back his plate, with a sigh of real contentment. Warmed by wine and candle light he looked round the table and unexpectedly felt the sting of tears in his eyes.

"You OK, Rich?" Duncan's voice asked softly, at his elbow.

Richie smiled. He should have known Mac would notice. Mac always noticed.

"Yeah," That came out a little huskily. Richie coughed. "Yeah, I'm just .. happy."

"We're not done yet," Methos announced, from his other side. "Time for presents."

"Presents?" Richie sat up a little straighter.

"What did you think tribute meant?" Duncan gave him a fond look.

Richie exchanged a quick, amused, glance with Connor. "Um. Nothing."

"Alright," Connor took charge. "The tradition is meant to be that the noble warrior receives a tribute for his defence of the clan. But no-one could agree what to give you. So, we are each going to give you a present based on our own traditions. Joseph, I think you should go first."

"Mine isn't so much a present, as a gift." Joe began.

"What's the difference?" Richie asked.

"Well, this is much harder to wrap for a start," Joe grinned. "You get to choose your own Watcher."

"Really?" Richie blinked.

"You've earnt it Rich," Joe sighed at the debacle, with Richie's trainee watcher. "I'll let you look through the profiles of the available candidates, you can pick a shortlist and we'll call them in for interview."

"Like it was a real job?" Richie grinned.

"Hey," Joe protested. "It is a real job. I'd like to see you with someone you can trust."

"Thanks Joe. That means a lot to me."

"This is from me," Amanda handed him an envelope.

"An I.O.U. Amanda?" Richie teased.

"Something like that," Amanda surprised him. "Open it."

They all watched as Richie opened the envelope and extracted a single piece of cream coloured paper.

"Las Vegas? You're taking me to Las Vegas?"

"I said I would," Amanda reminded him. "When we met in Paris, that first time. But Duncan said you were too young."

"He's still too young for what you have in mind," Duncan scowled. "Cheating is against the law, Amanda."

"Only if you get caught."

"Don't worry Macleod," Methos smirked. "I'll go along and make sure they don't get caught."

Duncan glowered.

"Mac," Richie shook his head fondly, lowering his voice so only Duncan could hear. "They're just winding you up. There's nothing going on between then."

"Really?" Duncan whispered back.

"Absolutely. Amanda told me. Apparently Methos and Rebecca used to be an item way back when .."

"Methos and Rebecca?" Duncan blinked.

"So, Amanda feels like she's know him forever. She's not sleeping with Methos, he's like family to her, it would be like sleeping with your sister or something."

"Oh." Duncan felt a profound sense of relief.

"So, does this mean I'm getting a wicked step-mother?" Richie teased.

Duncan ignored that. But he didn't say no, either, Richie noted.

 "Here's mine," Methos offered a small box, wrapped in dark blue paper.

"I didn't know you knew how to shop." Richie teased.

"You think all these sweaters just appear, as if by magic, in my wardrobe?" Methos huffed. "Besides, I never said I'd bought it."

Curiously, Richie ripped at the paper and opened the box. It was a crystal on a thin leather thong.

"Hey, I used to have one of these when I was a kid." Richie recalled. "Remember, Mac? Angie bought it for me from the 5th Street Market. She said it would help focus my energies."

"Did it work?" Joe asked Duncan.

"He was eighteen," Duncan scoffed fondly, "His energies were already pretty focused .. on getting his next date."

"That's one of Rebecca's crystals." Amanda realised.

"You were Rebecca's student?" Joe blinked.

"Not exactly," Methos demurred. "But she taught me a lot."

"I'll bet." Connor murmured.

"Methos," Richie swallowed. "I can't take this."

"Rebecca would want you to have it. Besides, I've never met an Immortal that manages to get sick or injured as often as you do. If anyone around this table needs a little extra karma, its you."

Richie nodded. "Thank you. I'll treasure it."

"Duncan?" Connor raised a brow.

Duncan cleared his throat and produced a small, square box, from his pocket.

"I wanted to give you this, when you turned 21. But I wasn't sure that you would accept." He paused.

"C'mon Mac," Richie encouraged. "You're making me nervous here. Anyone would think you were going to propose."

"Just open it." Duncan thrust the box in his hand.

The thick gold ring fit him as if made for him.

"I got it altered." Duncan's voiced was husky.

"Oh Mac, its beautiful," Richie peered at the legend, embossed around the ring in Gaelic. _Hold Fast _The motto of the Clan Macleod. Richie stilled. "How old is it?"

"It belonged to my Grandfather," Duncan told him. "He gave it to my father, when he turned 21, and he gave it to me. I felt that I had lost the right to wear it when my father disowned me, but I'd always yearned to carry on the tradition. And now I can."

"Oh." Richie managed as he realised exactly what the ring symbolised.

"You don't like it?" Duncan worried.

"I love it," Richie looked up to meet his eyes. "Thanks, Dad."

"You're welcome." Duncan tousled his hair. "Tough Guy."

"And finally," Connor rose to his feet to attract their attention. "The Clan Macleod tradition has always been that notable success in battle is toasted by the Clan with fine wine, with the goblet going to the warrior, as tribute. The greater the victory, the elaborate the tribute."

Connor reached behind him to produce a large, lavishly decorated, goblet.

"Wow," Dollar signs spun in Amanda's eyes. "That much be worth several thousands at least."

"More actually," Connor shrugged. "I happen to think killing me is quite an achievement." He looked at Richie. "None of us know what may happen in times to come, gold may hold value when civilisations fall, and cash money, land or stocks and shares become worthless."

"Like an Immortal pension?" Richie hazarded.

"I always said you were bright."

He filled the goblet and raised it in Richie's direction. 

"Risteared."

Richie swallowed hard. Somehow that simple benediction from a man he respected meant more to him than any number of flowery words. Connor drank deeply and passed the goblet to Amanda on his left. "Richard." She toasted him with a twinkle in her eye and took a sip. "To Richie." Joe took a larger swallow. "Richard Ryan Macloed." Methos intoned, causing Duncan and Richie to look happily at each other, as the ancient Immortal took a big guzzle of wine.

"Hey, leave some for us." Duncan snagged the goblet from his grasp.

"Good vintage." Methos wiped his mouth appreciatively.

"Here's to you, .. son," Duncan toasted Richie, with a smile on his lips.

Richie took the goblet and raised it in his turn. Momentarily stuck for words, he looked around at the loving faces at the table, he realised that he knew exactly what to say.

"To family."

He had finally come home.

***

The End.


End file.
